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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037868">double take</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonweaver/pseuds/moonweaver'>moonweaver</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:22:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonweaver/pseuds/moonweaver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All of those inexplicable feelings. Longing that coiled deep in the chest. Awe that heated veins and became the drumming of a heartbeat. Small revelations that happened, over and over, upon looking at the utterly familiar.</p><p>(or: Akaashi Keiji begins to notice.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Tsukishima Kei</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sweet feel good fics, Where did that come from</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I consider this my redemption arc for that akatsukki fic I started back in 2016 and never finished, despite countless promises not to drop it. To those who followed that incomplete story ("if that's how you want it"), this is my apology to you!</p><p>This fic is complete and will be updated every 1-2 days, depending on my beta readers' schedules!</p><p>Massive thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/diwaachan">diwa</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/angryeggo">alice</a>, and <a href="https://twitter.com/sakrgu">sabs</a> for all their support, and an extra thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/loving_fkrdn">rio</a> for posting the tweet that spurred me to get my act together and start writing again.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes there comes that moment when you look at something familiar with new eyes. For a moment it’s as if you’ve never really <em> seen </em> it before, never really noticed the pattern in those coloured kitchen tiles, the radiating gold lines on that gifted kintsugi teapot, the slender pale legs of your friend as he slouches on your couch and props his foot on the coffee table, volleyball shorts slipping halfway up his thigh.</p><p>Akaashi chewed on the end of his pencil, eyes straying repeatedly from the manuscript he’d been editing to Tsukishima sitting at his couch. Every time he looked away he had to look back, because it was just so…strange. He’d seen Tsukishima’s legs plenty of times—legs were legs, everyone had them—so what made this time <em> different </em>?</p><p>Maybe it was the lighting, or something. Every time he glanced back at that exposed thigh it struck him how long Tsukishima’s legs were, how lean with muscle, yet his pale skin looked smooth and soft.</p><p>Tsukishima turned the page of his manga, sniffing with contempt at whatever he’d read. Part of Akaashi’s brain was curious as to the reason—that old volume of <em> Zom’bish </em> was one of Udai-san’s best. The other part was preoccupied with contemplating <em> why </em> he couldn’t stop staring at this completely normal sight like it was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on it. </p><p>Akaashi fiddled with his fingers, before splaying them out across the manuscript page in an effort to stop fidgeting. Yeah, he’d seen Tsukishima’s legs plenty of times.</p><p>But he’d never wanted to touch them before.</p><p>As soon as the thought crossed his mind he wanted to squish it into oblivion. Akaashi bit his pencil harder, teeth digging into the wood.</p><p>“Shitty story?” Tsukishima asked from the couch. </p><p>“Hm?” Akaashi suddenly became aware he was frowning at his papers and looked up, a little guiltily. “Oh. No, not really.” He made sure to keep his gaze strictly on Tsukishima’s face. “Just thinking.”</p><p>Tsukishima tapped his fingers on the manga’s cover. “If I’m a distraction, I can go to the station now,” he said.</p><p>“No, you’re,” <em> definitely a distraction </em>, “fine. It’s just hard to focus,” Akaashi said, then internally cursed the words coming out of his mouth. He scrambled to make it seem like he was actually focusing on his work. “This draft just isn’t accurate, but the author’s popular and the higher-ups think it’ll take off. We should really just be sticking with Udai-san’s new work…”</p><p>“Inaccurate how?” Tsukishima took his legs off the table (Akaashi found himself disappointed) and stood up (but now Akaashi found himself appreciating Tsukishima’s height), coming over to peer at the manuscript.</p><p>By all accounts Akaashi shouldn’t have been showing someone else an unpublished work, but sharing what he was working on with Tsukishima only felt natural. Besides, he liked hearing his opinion.</p><p>Tsukishima sneered at the draft. “The libero spiked and everyone was fine with that?”</p><p>“Fiction gives people too much leeway,” Akaashi agreed, making notes in the margins. “Wait, you’ll like the page before that more.”</p><p>“…The blocker couldn’t match the jump?” Tsukishima sounded incredulous. “He’s double the size of that guy. Literally double,” he added, poking a finger at the grossly stylised drawing.</p><p>Akaashi placed his hand on Tsukishima’s, pushing it away from the paper gently so he could turn the page back. “Are you projecting?” he asked, feeling a laugh bubble in his throat at Tsukishima’s offended face.</p><p>Tsukishima narrowed a glare at him. “My legs were never the size of Hinata’s entire body, thank you.”</p><p><em> No, but they are quite long </em>. And immediately Akaashi was flustered again, but luckily Tsukishima didn’t seem to notice. His phone was chiming from the couch.</p><p>“That’s my alarm. Thanks for letting me stay here, Akaashi-san.” He flicked the libero’s face again in annoyance as a farewell.</p><p>Akaashi removed his hand from the manga again, his lips twitching. “Careful, you’ll put a hole through the whole book,” he said, tapping Tsukishima’s fingers admonishingly. They were callused from hours, days, years of volleyball.</p><p>They were also rather slender. And elegant.</p><p>Tsukishima looked down at their hands and flushed. “I’ll get going now, or it’ll be me and not Koganegawa getting scolded for being late.”</p><p>Akaashi released his hand, now unable to scrub the afterimage of Tsukishima’s long fingers from his brain. “Uh…will you be free after practice? I should be done with my work by mid-afternoon if you’d like to get dinner.”</p><p>For a moment he was worried Tsukishima would flatly decline. They had, after all, caught up yesterday with Kuroo and Kenma when Tsukishima came a day early into Tokyo. They’d had a  congratulatory dinner for the Sendai Frogs winning 3 out of 5 matches of the In-Conference Leg 1 rounds, and he’d then stayed the night at Akaashi’s. He would probably want to spend time with his teammates.</p><p>Walking back to the couch to grab his bag, Tsukishima slowly said, “I’ll be free. As long as you’re sure you have time.”</p><p>With Tsukishima and his legs out of the apartment, Akaashi would be able to complete the edits in ten seconds flat. “I’m sure.”</p><p>He followed Tsukishima to the door, stepping past him to unlock and open it as the latter put on his shoes. They were a nondescript grey, but Akaashi knew his volleyball shoes, which were stowed away in a netted bag, were black with bold golden patterns swirled on the sides. They went rather well with the rest of the green uniform.</p><p>“I’ll LINE you around four,” Tsukishima said, and then a small smile unexpectedly lit his face. “Thanks for letting me stay here last night.”</p><p><em> It was no problem at all </em>, Akaashi wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat and all he could do was nod politely at Tsukishima, watching his calves as he left. As soon as he turned the corner, Akaashi sighed heavily, letting the door close and slumping against the wall.</p><p>Sometimes there’s a moment where something you thought familiar looks completely new to you. In the space of a breath, it’s like you’re experiencing that sight for the very first time.</p><p>Once that breath passes, everything slots back into place as if your perception had never been disturbed.</p><p>Akaashi rested his head in his hands. His fingers twitched.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It had been pure luck that their schedules had happened to align.</p><p>As the years had passed, Tsukishima and Akaashi had kept in contact, particularly since they’d grown closer during the last Tokyo training camp they shared in high school. However once Akaashi graduated and then Tsukishima, and then both started pursuing their actual futures, their messages had dwindled to mostly snippets about volleyball news and offhand mentions on group chats.</p><p>It was one of those school friendships Akaashi had looked back on and felt the loss of. <em> Sometimes people just grow apart </em>, he’d told himself, pushed his glasses back up his nose, and continued marking errors in punishing red pen on Udai-san’s submissions.</p><p>That hadn’t stopped the spike of happiness he’d felt when Tsukishima told him he’d been scouted by a national league team, but even then he’d been too busy to do more than offer a congratulations. The only reason he’d been allowed to go on a work day to the MSBY Jackal’s first V.League match of the season was because he and Udai-san were interviewing Bokuto for the magazine.</p><p>And usually his Friday evenings were spent scrambling to edit Udai-san’s late manuscripts, but oddly enough the man had turned in his work an entire hour early on Thursday. And then Tsukishima had mentioned in a group LINE chat that the Sendai Frogs were having a training week in Tokyo as a precursor to their first Round 2 match on November 3rd, Kuroo had pounced on it and badgered him into coming a day early to catch up, and Akaashi had realised with a startling jolt of anticipation that he was free too.</p><p>Tsukishima had grown even taller, was Akaashi’s first thought upon seeing him. That, and his hair was longer too, blonde as ever and curling at the tips.</p><p>Now, sitting at his dining table poring over his other mangaka’s work, Akaashi abruptly remembered that once he’d had a few cups of sake and the alcohol’s warmth was fizzing through his body, he’d <em> really </em> wanted to pat Tsukishima on the head.</p><p>He huffed out an annoyed sigh, rolling the pencil between his fingers. What was all this about <em> touching </em>? </p><p>His phone chimed and he welcomed the distraction gladly; it was a message from Bokuto on that same chat he shared with Kuroo and Tsukishima, demanding pictures of the night he’d missed—despite currently being in Tokyo—thanks to MSBY training.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Contact(s): Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsuikishima Kei</b>
</p><p>&gt;&gt;Where’re the pics? did Tsukki get drunk?? <b>~Bokuto</b> [11:03]</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi cracked a small grin at that. Tsukishima hadn’t gotten drunk—Akaashi had never actually seen him tipsy—but he doubted Tsukishima would be a messy drunk. Probably meaner than usual, and then very tired.</p><p>He did have a pretty nice group picture of them, with Kenma actually in the frame for once. Akaashi uploaded it to the chat, noting with pleasure Tsukishima was smiling. It was small but it was there, a contrast to his usually stoic appearances in V.League promotional material. Akaashi guiltily found himself not missing Bokuto’s presence, because too much chaos and that smile might have never appeared.</p><p>He frowned. Tsukishima’s glasses suited him extremely well.</p><p>He shoved his own back up the bridge of his nose, locking his phone and placing it face down on the table with a <em> clack </em>. “Work time,” he muttered to himself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Four hours later, Akaashi finally closed the last page of the manuscript and interlocked his fingers, stretching them high above his head. Shadows stretched through the room; with autumn underway, sunset was inching earlier by increments.</p><p>His stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d skipped out on lunch and it was now 3:00. At least he’d managed to complete the edits all in one day. Despite his earlier griping with Tsukishima, the mangaka had obviously gripped the fantastical elements of fiction and was wielding them with an iron fist. Udai-san, on the other hand, often had his characters rambling in a stream-of-consciousness style for pages on end.</p><p>Something from the convenience store would tide him over until he could meet Tsukishima, Akaashi decided, standing up to grab his wallet. Lamenting the fact that Onigiri Miya’s recently established branch in Naka-Meguro was simply too out of the way, he left his apartment and trotted down the stairs.</p><p>Ten minutes later and he was back, a bag with a spicy mentaiko onigiri dangling from his wrist. Akaashi shrugged off his coat, tossing it over the back of a chair before flopping onto the couch. It was only September but the autumn air was getting some bite to it.</p><p>Even though Tsukishima had slept on this couch (his feet had dangled over the armrest, unfortunately) he hadn’t left any sign of his being there, apart from the manga sitting on the coffee table next to Akaashi’s half-finished novel. Not a hair left on the cushions, not a sock left lying under the table—as had happened whenever Bokuto stayed over while he was in Tokyo. His apartment felt as empty as it had ever been; there was an instant pang of loneliness at the thought. In an effort to push the gloom away he picked up the book, biting into his sadly generic onigiri. </p><p>Tsukishima had made the trip to Tokyo a day early so he could meet Kuroo, Kenma and Akaashi; once Akaashi had heard he was planning to stay at a capsule hotel he hadn’t thought twice about offering Tsukishima to sleep at his. It was a favour, after all. Friends did favours for each other.</p><p>And it had been so pleasantly simple to slide back into that comfortable back-and-forth they’d always had, making digs at Kuroo, siding with Kenma, discussing volleyball and Tsukishima’s studies and the books Akaashi had been reading with ease. The relaxed atmosphere had followed them back to Akaashi’s after they said their goodbyes, continued as Akaashi grabbed some blankets for the couch, and stayed as Tsukishima had his shower and emerged yawning, cheeks flushed, towel around his neck and hair a little curlier for its dampness—</p><p>The image replayed in Akaashi’s mind’s eye as he blinked at his book without reading it. The realisation he was dwelling on it was like a slap in the face. How much had he been looking? How much had he been looking and not <em> realised </em> he was looking?</p><p>Suddenly Akaashi knew with absolute certainty he had to get outside or he’d go crazy.</p><p>The chill afternoon air was a welcome touch upon his cheeks, cooling both his hot skin and his turmoil of half-formed thoughts. With nothing but his phone, wallet, and a thin scarf wrapped around his neck, Akaashi set off in the direction of the local park. He was lucky to live in a neighbourhood that had a veritable field of a park, not just the small concrete blocks peppered throughout Tokyo’s wards.</p><p>He wandered through down the park’s main path, stopping briefly to watch a kids’ baseball match taking place. Akaashi hadn’t held a bat since going to a rec centre with some friends in university. Bokuto had joined them for one outing and in true Bokuto fashion had repeatedly let go of the bat after whacking the ball, sending both hurtling into the distance.</p><p>The batter hit a home run and her team erupted into cheers, all of them sprinting over to bury her in hugs—obviously she’d won them the match. Akaashi found himself smiling slightly at the unadulterated joy on their faces.</p><p>His phone buzzed in his pocket. He unlocked it, turning away from the baseball field to continue walking down the path.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Contact(s): Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsukishima Kei</b>
</p><p>&gt; &gt; very cute pic @Akaashi 😺 <b>~Kuroo</b> [16:02]</p><p>&gt; &gt; @Bokuto you think I wouldn’t have immortalised the memory? <b>~Kuroo</b> [16:02]</p><p>&gt; &gt; @Bokuto You wish. <b>~Tsukishima</b> [16:02]</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi snorted at the answers to Bokuto’s earlier question. If he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind snapping a few pictures of a drunk Tsukishima—but then, that ran the risk of Tsukishima snapping someone’s phone in half. It was respect for his elders that held a sober Tsukishima back, but a drunk Tsukishima would be a different beast.</p><p> </p><p>&gt; &gt; @Kuroo If you hadn’t had work today, you would have been too far gone to even remember to take photos. <b>~Akaashi</b> [16:03]</p><p>&gt; &gt; What he said. <b>~Tsukishima</b> [16:04]</p><p> </p><p>The buzzing notification of Kuroo’s irate reply was cut off with an incoming message, this time directly from Tsukishima.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Contact: Tsukishima Kei</b>
</p><p>&gt; &gt; Practice is going to run late, sorry. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[16:06]</p><p>&lt; &lt; Should I meet you at the gym then? <b>~Akaashi </b>[16:07]</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi furrowed his brow after he hit send, wondering if he was being too pushy. If Tsukishima’s practice was running late, he’d probably be tired and wouldn’t want to hang out a (hopefully) friend from out of town. Maybe this was his indirect way of backing out and Akaashi was imposing.</p><p>   </p><p>&gt; &gt; Sure, if it’s not too much trouble. There’s a balcony you can sit at if we’re still practicing when you arrive. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[16:07]</p><p> </p><p>His phone pinged once more with the address for the gymnasium.</p><p>Akaashi exhaled deeply, embarrassed at how relieved he felt. <em> Am I really that starved for human contact? </em>he thought bitterly, turning on his heel to head for the train station. Navitime estimated the commute to take about forty minutes, so he felt by the time he arrived they would be finishing up.</p><p>The station wasn’t too busy when he got there, giving him hope there’d be room to sit on the train. One perk of his local underground line was that it didn’t suffer from crowds to the extent of the Tozai or Chuo lines. Soon enough, the train pulled up and proved his prediction correct: there were a good amount of seats available.</p><p>Akaashi leaned back, staring at the ceiling. It was really too bad Naka-Meguro was in the opposite direction, although Akaashi wasn’t sure what Tsukishima would think about getting onigiri for a d—for dinner. For dinner with a friend. He probably wouldn’t be too impressed, but everybody raved about Onigiri Miya, possibly even more than they raved about the owner’s equally famous brother.</p><p>He closed his eyes, ignoring the rapid likely-Bokuto-induced buzzing from his pocket. What would Tsukishima’s favourite onigiri flavour be?</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel compelled to add <a href="https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/facebook/001/485/258/cc1.jpeg">this</a> was the mantra running through my head the entirety of writing this chapter...</p><p>Come spread the rarepair agenda with me on <a href="https://twitter.com/tsukichuus">twitter!</a> (I also have a <a href="http://rincentric.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> if tumblr's still relevant nowadays lol)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To those who commented on chapter one, thank you so much! Positive attention completely validates my existence! I live to please the people 👊</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dusk had fallen by the time Akaashi arrived at the gymnasium the Sendai Frogs were training at. He rubbed his arms as he entered, annoyed that he’d forgotten his coat and hoping that it was warmer inside than out. A simple sweater only did so much.</p><p>After a quick word with the front desk staff he walked to the stairs next to the indoor courts. Shouting, the squeak of shoes on linoleum, and the slaps of hands against volleyballs echoed down the hall. He could almost pretend he was back at the Fukurodani gym, preparing himself for Bokuto to demand several hundred tosses in the space of two minutes. Then an authoritative voice started barking orders, so unlike Akaashi’s old coach that it snapped him out of his memories.</p><p>The spectator’s balcony space was fairly narrow, but as there were only a few people dotting the area there were plenty of open seats. Akaashi went down to the railing, leaning over so he could see the entire court.</p><p>There was a match taking place below; a bright green team on the side closest to Akaashi against a yellow and brown on the other. The benched members milled around, some paying attention and others surreptitiously chatting, while the coaches watched their players like hawks. The score chart displayed 13:12 in the Sendai Frogs’ favour, with the little number hanging between showing they were on their fifth set.</p><p>Akaashi quickly found Tsukishima, who was standing up the front with his hands locked behind his head as a player with a helmet-like buzz cut readied his serve. The jump serve blasted over the net, stunning Akaashi with its speed. </p><p>Even though it was the final set, it still progressed at a brutal pace. Neither team was willing to give ground, and even though there were silly mistakes from time to time (the opposing team’s spike went wide and the Frogs’ tall setter slipped in his own sweat), they were still persistent in taking points one by one. The Sendai Frogs were truly living up to their name—each player had an especially high, intimidating jump, whether it be in serving, spiking, or blocking.</p><p>Akaashi could remember Tsukishima doing jump spikes every so often during his last training camp, as well as when he’d had the chance to see Karasuno play in official matches. It was fairly rare that Tsukishima actually put one hundred percent of effort into his jumps, but when it did happen he immediately had a whole different kind of presence on the court. It wasn’t like Bokuto’s comet of a spike or Hinata’s lightning quick, but more as if the shield became a battering ram.</p><p>He was jumping high here—obviously higher than four years ago—but it wasn’t quite the same as Akaashi remembered. Not one-hundred percent, but maybe eighty, or eighty-five. Given it was the fifth set, however, it was understandable he’d be tired.</p><p>“Koganegawa!” Tsukishima snapped at the Frogs’ tall setter, who rushed over. They crouched down together and then leapt upward in a block, Tsukishima’s long hands arching around like he was shaping a cage instead of a wall. Akaashi saw a brief panic in the spiker’s face as he hit the ball straight toward the Frogs’ libero. The Frogs quickly put an end to the rally, bringing their score up to 14:12.</p><p>“Nice course,” Akaashi said under his breath, clapping his hands softly. He wondered what it felt like to play against Tsukishima now, all 195 centimetres of him (Kuroo had asked his height last night), looming up to block or attack. He hadn’t been fond of dealing with the pressure blockers exerted when he’d played, but as to how he’d deal with Tsukishima… A small, rebellious part of him was decidedly curious.</p><p>The dangerous server sent another fast ball, but this time it went into the net. He stomped away to take his position on the court, Akaashi catching a glimpse of a furious scowl on his face. “Don’t mind, Kyoutani,” a few Frogs called at him, completely ignoring his rage. It seemed they were very used to it—one player even patted him on the shoulder.</p><p>The other team served the ball, and they were off again.</p><p>Receive, set, cross—one-touch, set, straight. The rally was merciless even though both teams were at their limits, demanding every ounce of energy they had left to spare. And then the other team had a chance ball, and Akaashi watched as the setter smiled.</p><p>“Here!” the outside hitter roared, dashing up from the side.</p><p>“Open!”</p><p>“To me!”</p><p>“Ready!”</p><p>His hands stretched upward, the setter jumped up—and Tsukishima jumped too, arms up, hands forward. His body language reverberated with <em> I’m here. </em> </p><p>The ball from the setter’s attempted spike slapped straight into Tsukishima’s palm and thudded back onto the attacker’s side of the court. Tsukishima landed squarely on his feet, steady and balanced.</p><p>Once Bokuto had called Tsukishima’s arms frail. Akaashi stared at Tsukishima’s forearms, which were tensed as he clenched his fists in victory. His mouth felt a little dry.</p><p>Some things change, and some things <em> change</em>.</p><p>Tsukishima straightened, turning to his team. They crowded together, grinning and hooting (well, he wasn’t exactly doing that) in victory. The large setter—Koganegawa?—bounded over and slapped him hard on the back. “That was amazing, Tsukki!” Akaashi heard. “I didn’t see it coming!”</p><p>“You should’ve,” Tsukishima said bluntly.</p><p>Kyoutani grunted something Akaashi couldn’t hear, holding out his fist.</p><p>Tsukishima bumped it with his own. “Nice kills.”</p><p>“Agh, me too!” Koganegawa descended on them, but completely skipped the fist bumps he’d begged for and wrapped his arms around their necks. Akaashi felt a rush of mirth at Tsukishima’s disgruntled face as he was gripped in a merciless noogie.</p><p>Tsukishima chanced to look up at that moment, surprise widening his eyes when he saw Akaashi. “Akaashi-san.”</p><p>His unguarded expression made something inside Akaashi soften. “Nice set,” he called down to three.</p><p>“Who’s this, Tsukki?” Koganegawa prodded.</p><p>“He’s a friend,” Tsukishima said, shrugging off Koganegawa’s sweaty arm. “We’ll be about twenty minutes, sorry.”</p><p>Akaashi flashed a thumbs up, feeling a small smile play about his mouth. His cheeks still reddened from exertion, Tsukishima ducked his head, returning with his teammates to their coach’s side. The back of his neck was a bit flush as well, Akaashi idly noted.</p><p>After the coach and captain gave their feedback the team dispersed for cooldowns and cleaning up. Tsukishima helped unpeg the net and then went to stretch by the courtside with Koganegawa. Akaashi remembered doing hamstring stretches with his Fukurodani team, Konoha in particular taking delight on pressing on Komi’s back harder than necessary, leading to a string of swears and shouts from the libero despite his flexibility. Tsukishima, Akaashi saw now, hardly stretched his legs out to the sides. They were probably too stiff from all the exercise.</p><p>Spinal rotations were next, one of the more inelegant stretches—Akaashi smirked as the two tall players laid down, bending their left legs over to the right, and twisting their upper bodies to the left. They looked like tangled noodles. Tsukishima would kill him if he heard that thought.</p><p>Akaashi propped his chin on his hands, watching the rest of the Frogs team, then swivelled his gaze back as Tsukishima switched sides, stretching out his back. His shorts had ridden up again, exposing his thigh as he rolled his lower body to the side.</p><p>Akaashi instantly cursed the moment he was born.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It took a bit longer than twenty minutes, but eventually Akaashi heard the echo of voices down the corridor as the teams left the locker rooms. They rounded the corner as a group, but once Tsukishima saw Akaashi, he said his goodbyes to Koganegawa and Kyoutani and walked over. “Be back at the hotel by ten!” another player, probably the captain, called after him.</p><p>Akaashi straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall, watching Tsukishima approach. Even though he had changed out of his uniform, he was still wearing the team jersey. The darker green colour suited him quite well.</p><p>“Sorry to keep you waiting, Akaashi-san,” Tsukishima apologised. “It was going to be a three-set practice match, but they extended it to five…even though we kept losing.”</p><p>“I don’t mind,” Akaashi said. Tsukishima’s voice was always deeper than he was expecting. “It was nice to watch you play. And I seem to recall you winning the final set?”</p><p>“Yeah, but…in a real match, that wouldn’t have mattered.” They left the building, a cold breeze billowing around them as the doors slid open.</p><p>“It brought back memories,” Akaashi said, pressing a finger to his chin. “Of—”</p><p>“Of what, flying fall penalties?”</p><p>He blinked thoughtfully, because that actually hadn’t been the first thing that had come to mind. “No, of our after-practice…practices. They were a lot of fun.”</p><p>And in his final year, when there was a Kuroo and Bokuto-shaped absence in a noisy third gymnasium, Tsukishima Kei had been there, for some reason always willing to discuss and try out new plays with Akaashi despite being prone to automatically snubbing everyone else unless they were persistent. They had often sunk into quiet talks about strategy that continued through dinner time and only halted when they had to go to bed.</p><p>“Even when Kuroo and Bokuto had gone, and Lev and Hinata ran wild?” Tsukishima snorted.</p><p>“Yeah.” Akaashi looked sidelong at him. “Even then.”</p><p>Tsukishima was staring at the ground, fingers wrapped around his bag strap. “They were fun,” he said eventually, frowning immediately after he spoke.</p><p>Akaashi fought the sudden urge to smile at Tsukishima’s consternation. It was remarkably transparent.</p><p>“Where would you like to go, by the way?” Tsukishima asked abruptly as they walked down the quiet street. It was about ten minutes between the gymnasium and station, the latter of which was fronted by a small shopping and eatery street.</p><p>“Anything would be fine. How about a family restaurant?” They often served decaf coffee at those places, unlike izakayas and the like. It would be the perfect way to warm up—he shivered despite himself, the chill night air getting the better of him.</p><p>Tsukishima let out a gusty sigh. <em> Does he hate family restaurants? </em> Akaashi thought with a stab of doubt. He might be worried about rowdy kids or thought Akaashi’s suggestion was childish. That sigh <em> had </em> sounded exasperated—</p><p>“Are you cold, Akaashi-san?” Tsukishima asked.</p><p>“Oh?” Akaashi’s chattering brain paused, processed, and rewound. “Ah…a little,” he admitted. “I forgot my coat.”</p><p>“You forgot? That’s not really like you,” Tsukishima said. There was a rustle of movement and suddenly a handful of green cloth appeared in front of Akaashi’s nose. “Um. Here?”</p><p>Akaashi blinked in surprise, unsure how to react. <em> Is he really…? </em></p><p>Tsukishima scowled. “I didn’t wear it during practice, so it’s not gross like Koganegawa’s.”</p><p>Akaashi took the Sendai Frogs jersey hesitantly, feeling relieved when Tsukishima didn’t snatch it back and say it was a joke and he should take it as a teaching lesson. <em> That’s not really like you. </em></p><p>
  <em> Well, I’m not usually so distracted. </em>
</p><p>“It’s so green,” Akaashi said with amusement, holding it up.</p><p>“If you want to freeze that’s fine by me,” Tsukishima said snippily, reaching out for the jacket, but Akaashi was already putting it on. It swamped him, the hem hanging past his hips and the sleeves dropping over his hands, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable at all.</p><p>“It’s warm.” His voice was laced with satisfaction.</p><p>Tsukishima’s face had gone pink. He coughed into his fist. “Great.”</p><p>Swathed in the jersey, Akaashi felt almost like a kid. If he zipped it up, it would resemble an oversized poncho. He kind of liked how his fingertips were barely poking out of the sleeves; they made a nice substitute for gloves.</p><p>
  <span>He tugged the collar closer around his neck to protect what his thin scarf couldn’t. Tsukishima had been right: it didn’t smell sweaty or unwashed (he had striking memories of catching Bokuto’s well-used jersey in high school), but smelled sweetly warm, like vanilla cookies. Akaashi breathed it in, warmth blossoming in his chest.</span>
</p><p>Eventually they came to the pedestrian mall strip in front of the station, which was just starting to grow lively. Tsukishima surveyed it for a moment. “If we hang around the main area, there’s a good chance we’d run into some of the team later,” he pointed out.</p><p>“Is that something you want to avoid?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Akaashi was of the same mind. “Let’s go further up.”</p><p>The smell of noodles and grilling meat filled the air, making Akaashi’s stomach rumble. “You said a family restaurant?” Tsukishima asked, eyeing the crepe models on a cafe’s display shelf as they walked by.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you’re a pancakes-for-dinner kind of guy,” Akaashi said slyly.</p><p>He spluttered, which was the reaction Akaashi had wanted, but collected himself quickly. “Only cake for dinner, <em> thank you</em>. A family restaurant will be perfect.”</p><p>Akaashi chuckled out loud at that, surprising himself. From the slightly dumbfounded expression on Tsukishima's face, it was clear he also hadn’t been expecting that. </p><p>They spotted a Cafe Gusto down a quieter street and entered, tucking themselves into a side booth. Akaashi reluctantly removed the borrowed jacket, impulsively deciding to place it beside his lap instead of handing it back to Tsukishima right away. Tsukishima didn’t seem to notice.</p><p>The restaurant was fairly quiet, with the feared rowdy children yet to appear. A waitress offered them menus and glasses of water and took their drink orders, leaving with a promise she’d have them prepared promptly.</p><p>Akaashi sipped his water, watching Tsukishima peruse the menu. It turned out Tsukishima hadn’t been lying about cake-for-dinner—he only gave the dinner menu a quick once-over before flipping to the desserts, running his finger down the list, then tapping the page decisively. “I know what I’ll be getting, you?”</p><p>“Surely you’re going to eat more than—” Akaashi flipped open his own menu to the desserts, “—a brownie parfait?”</p><p>“You sound like Kuroo did last night.”</p><p>“Not yet.” Akaashi cleared his throat, and in a poor imitation of Kuroo: “Are you <em>sure </em>you’re eating enough, <em>Tsukki</em>?”</p><p>Tsukishima ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m actually hungry today. And I’d play like shit tomorrow if I didn’t eat enough,” he muttered at the table.</p><p>Akaashi smiled to himself, returning to his menu. He’d just decided on his order when the waitress returned with a cream soda for Tsukishima and a decaf coffee for himself.</p><p>He inhaled the coffee’s steam deeply as the waitress bustled off with their orders, closing his eyes in pleasure. Relaxation seeped through his bones.</p><p>“Ever thought about buying a coffee-scent diffuser?” There was no bite to Tsukishima’s jab. </p><p>Akaashi opened his eyes a fraction. “The smell is very relaxing. I’ve considered it.” He blew gently on the coffee and took a generous sip. “It doesn’t beat the actual drink.”</p><p>Their meals came out with only a short wait, simple set meals with rice, miso soup, salad, and grilled fish, yet delicious all the same. They chatted fairly little as they ate and let a comfortable silence wash over the table when they were finished. Akaashi didn’t particularly feel the need to fill the quiet, and to his satisfaction Tsukishima seemed content as well.</p><p>The waitress came to clear their plates away and bring the desserts they’d ordered before—tiramisu for Akaashi and strawberry shortcake for Tsukishima. Akaashi didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up when the plate was set before him; he suddenly looked quite lively. It was cute.</p><p>Akaashi blushed, hard and unexpectedly.</p><p><em> Please don’t notice please don’t notice</em>, he thought frantically, taking a gulp of water to cool his traitor face down. Tsukishima’s phone dinged loudly beside his elbow and Akaashi sent a prayer of thanks to the heavens for the distraction.</p><p>Tsukishima tapped the notification that had appeared and raised his eyebrows. “Looks like Bokuto-san’s practice is finished.” After a second he snorted and tilted the screen toward Akaashi.</p><p>Akaashi’s first impulse was to roll his eyes fondly. Bokuto had snapped a photo of himself and Hinata after their MSBY practice, both of them sweaty and gross. Bokuto was flashing a peace sign and grinning so hugely his eyes were squeezed shut, while Hinata was balancing a volleyball on his head, glaring up at it in concentration.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Contact(s): Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsukishima Kei</b>
</p><p>&gt; &gt; he said this one’s for tsukki <b>~Bokuto</b> [18:02]</p><p> </p><p>A picture of Hinata dragging his eye down with one finger, his tongue poked out mockingly. The volleyball had vanished somewhere out of the frame. Tsukishima let out a rather impressive <em> tch </em> at that.</p><p>Akaashi scrolled back to the first selfie, studying it. “You know…sometimes I miss playing with a star,” he admitted.</p><p>At Tsukishima’s silence he looked up quizzically. Tsukishima had a look of befuddlement that Akaashi was familiar with. He knew how this went: the other person would stare blankly at him, Akaashi would be confused because he <em> was </em> making sense (right?) and the subject would be awkwardly changed—</p><p>“Can’t say I miss playing with a sun,” Tsukishima said, then coughed uncomfortably. “Hinata, that is.”</p><p>Of course Akaashi knew what he meant.</p><p>Tsukishima’s cheeks had gone reddish. “I sound stupid, don’t I? That’s how the team described him and, well, I—” he cut himself off and took a furious bite of his shortcake.</p><p>“A sun’s essentially a star too,” Akaashi pointed out. His chest felt warm again.</p><p>“Both will blind you?” Tsukishima waved his fork at the picture.</p><p>Akaashi felt his mouth twitch at that. Bokuto, to him—and he suspected Hinata, to Tsukishima—was the kind of person who compelled others to give it their all, just because he was wholeheartedly, unashamedly, giving it his all. Akaashi had seen Hinata’s effect on the Karasuno team when they played, so he had a hunch Tsukishima wasn’t an exception.</p><p>“When did Hinata get back from Brazil again?”</p><p>“Around January.”</p><p>“And he’s already on a National team,” Akaashi said with wonder, sliding Tsukishima’s phone back to him.</p><p>“He probably snuck in and pretended he’d been there all along,” Tsukishima said scathingly, “just like what he did in our first year.”</p><p>“Hm? What did he do?”</p><p>Tsukishima looked at him in surprise. “I never told you?”</p><p>“I don’t think it came up, no.”</p><p>“Well, there was this training camp for Miyagi…”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I’m glad I have tomorrow off,” Akaashi said, suppressing a yawn as they walked back toward the station.</p><p>The Sendai Frogs jersey was draped around his shoulders like a blanket. He had tried to give it back after they left because after all, Tsukishima was only wearing a thin sweater like himself, but Tsukishima had refused to take it. “It’s colder outside than before,” was the reason he gave. Despite rubbing his arms, there was a set to his mouth that implied it would start scowling if Akaashi insisted, so Akaashi had slipped the jersey on instead.</p><p>“What will you be doing?”</p><p>“Oh, just…” Akaashi knotted his fingers together. “Nothing interesting. Cleaning a bit, I guess. Running errands. Finishing a book.” Wow, he really sounded like the most boring person on earth.</p><p>“That one that was next to Udai-san’s manga?”</p><p>Oh, so he’d noticed that. “Yes, that one.”</p><p>“If I didn’t have practice, I’d be doing the same thing. And studying.” Tsukishima looked a little put out at the prospect.</p><p>Akaashi felt himself perk up a bit. “What do you like reading?”</p><p>“I usually read manga or nonfiction stuff. But that book you had seemed pretty interesting…” he trailed off uncertainly.</p><p>“I’m almost finished. I can lend it to you after I’m done,” Akaashi offered, the words coming out of his mouth of their own accord. Bokuto would’ve been all over that if he heard—Akaashi was notorious for guarding his novels jealously from his friend. (But maybe that was because he knew Bokuto would just read half a page and forget about them, then accidentally repurpose them as coasters.)</p><p>“I’d like that, Akaashi-san,” Tsukishima said to his shoes.</p><p>They wound their way through the people milling about the station, passing through the ticket gates. “Which train are you getting?” Akaashi asked.</p><p>It turned out they were on the same line, but going in opposite directions. They walked down to the platform together, plopping down on the waiting bench.</p><p>Thinking about his free Sundays usually brought Akaashi peace, but the more he thought about it the more antsy he felt. Sunday would pass, and then the work week would be incredibly busy—Mondays always started with a mountain of paperwork and by Wednesday Udai-san had usually gnawed through five pencils, culminating on Thursdays and Fridays with both Udai-san and Akaashi tearing out fistfuls of their hair.</p><p>He wasn’t sure when he’d have the chance to see Tsukishima again.</p><p>Akaashi wet his lips, considering what he was about to ask. He was feeling foolishly nervous. “Have you been to Naka-Meguro?” he asked before he could chicken out.</p><p>“No. I haven’t been to a lot of places in Tokyo, actually.”</p><p>“Country bumpkin,” Akaashi teased without thinking. Tsukishima glared at him, and weirdly enough that gave him the courage to continue. “I can show you around a bit tomorrow. After your practice. If you want.”</p><p><em> Could I </em> sound <em> anymore tense? </em> he thought exasperatedly.</p><p>“Ah.” Akaashi glanced up worriedly at the single syllable, but rather than appearing reluctant, Tsukishima looked as if he’d had another strawberry shortcake placed before him. “That would be nice, thank you.”</p><p>“Do you like onigiri?”</p><p>“…Yes?”</p><p><em> Excellent</em>.</p><p>The announcement for Akaashi’s train came over the PA system, prompting them both to stand up. <em> Oh, right</em>. He was still wearing Tsukishima’s jersey—the latter would want it back by now. Akaashi hoped he hadn’t made it smell bad, even though he’d done nothing strenuous that day that warranted a bad smell.</p><p>He started to pull it off, but Tsukishima gestured for him to stop. “If you’re still cold, you can return it tomorrow.”</p><p>He was actually rather warm. “Are you sure?”</p><p>Tsukishima looked pained for some reason. “<em> Yes </em>,” he said empathetically.</p><p>An idea occurred to Akaashi. “Then here. A trade.” He unwound the scarf from his neck and held it out.</p><p>“This is basically a handkerchief,” Tsukishima said skeptically, but he took it anyway.</p><p>“Don’t go blowing your nose on it.”</p><p>“I wasn’t that cold, really,” Tsukishima said, wrapping the scarf around his neck.</p><p>The burgundy looked good on him, complementing his blonde hair nicely. Akaashi allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at the pretty picture he’d created, then his brain caught up to those errant thoughts and told him sharply <em> stop staring, time to go.  </em></p><p>He stepped onto the train as the departing jingle sounded, turning to face Tsukishima, who was fingering the edge of the scarf.</p><p>“Until tomorrow,” Akaashi said, watching him as the train doors slid shut.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ao3 is constantly messing up formatting so if there's weird punctuation I am SO SORRY</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You're all cutie pies and I hope you enjoy ✨👊 akatsukki agenda rise up</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akaashi’s Sunday started off slow and lazy at 8am—a late morning for him. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he changed his clothes and went out for a run, letting the pounding of his feet against pavement wake him up fully.</p><p>When he returned, he began clicking through his laptop over a bowl of cereal, searching for things to do around Naka-Meguro. Truthfully, he’d only suggested it as he’d wanted to take Tsukishima to Onigiri Miya, because onigiri really had no right to be as delicious as it was there.</p><p>But now Tsukishima would have expectations that Akaashi would know his way around the area. After all, he had extended the invitation to that particular place, so Tsukishima would rightfully assume he’d be able to show him around. Akaashi didn’t want to let him down; he wanted to live up to those expectations. He wanted to see Tsukishima enjoying himself. With Akaashi.</p><p>Akaashi massaged his temples, facing up to the revelation occurring within him. He <em> wanted </em> this to be a date. </p><p><em> Wow. Stupid. </em> He wondered how Bokuto would react if he told him, then decided Bokuto didn’t have to know, maybe forever. </p><p>He pored over tourist websites, and then, ignoring the lurch of embarrassment in his gut, Googled “<em>date spots Naka-Meguro</em>”. To his annoyance there were a <em> lot </em> of food-related suggestions, to which Akaashi put his foot down because by God he was going to prove Onigiri Miya worthy.</p><p>The Meguro River walk looked quite nice, with red-gold autumn foliage lining the river on either side. There were some recommended brick-and-mortar shops, a sculpture museum, and a particularly lovely little art gallery, although Akaashi wasn’t sure if Tsukishima was interested in museums unrelated to either his own or his palaeontology studies.</p><p>There was an onsen on the list as well, which caused Akaashi to heat up all over as if his apartment were an onsen itself. The caption mentioned something about dark nights and lovers and—no, he did <em> not </em> want his thoughts to stray there. He clicked away hurriedly, wanting to bury his head in his hands. Why couldn’t he have suggested something more safely tourist-y, like Skytree or Meiji Shrine?</p><p>The second link showed a calm, comfortable park which promised displays of autumn leaves, a stylish indie bookstore, and more eccentric brick-and-mortar shops selling everything from beer to bicycle tyres. Tongue between his teeth, Akaashi began scribbling a rough plan in his notebook.</p><p>Aside from the slightly feverish da—<em>outing </em> planning, Akaashi’s day progressed as he’d said it would last night. After finishing the list, he showered, did some household chores, went to buy groceries to fill his fridge for the coming week. Throughout it all he found he was continuously wondering how Tsukishima was getting on. Were the Frogs in the midst of another five-set match, or working on specific techniques? Maybe the coaches had mixed up the teams; Akaashi recalled the same thing happening during their high school training camps.</p><p>According to Tsukishima, the Frogs were here a week before their match in order to get acclimated to their more unfamiliar surroundings. Apparently the Sendai Frogs had a partnership with this team—the Hornets, they were called—and if time allowed, the two groups would use each others’ training facilities if there was going to be an upcoming match in their respective regions.</p><p>The Hornets were also supposedly one of the top contenders to break into the Division I ranking once the approaching volleyball season finished up. They were proving themselves worthy of that expectation, but it had only been the first day, Tsukishima had asserted.</p><p>“Even if we keep losing during training, we’ll just win the official matches,” he’d continued, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. A sly grin cracked his face. “Like with Nekoma.”</p><p>“Do <em> you </em> think you’ll keep losing?” He remembered Tsukishima’s final block, determination etched in every line of his back. <em> I don’t think you would</em>.</p><p>A pause. And then, a simple, clear, “No.”</p><p>Leaning on his kitchen counter, Akaashi sipped the cup of coffee he’d just brewed. Thinking back to yesterday’s conversation had him feeling admiration for Tsukishima’s quiet conviction. It was so unlike 9 how he’d constantly deflect in high school.</p><p>Shuffling over to the window, he slid it open to let a breeze in and settled at the couch with his book. He had been making steady headway, his promise to lend it to Tsukishima giving him focus. It meant he had five days to finish.</p><p>Akaashi read through three more chapters, moving at a slower pace than he’d intended simply because he liked to turn over the ideas and concepts in his mind, comparing characters’ worldviews against his own. It was his propensity toward this that spurred him to pursue a literary editing career in the first place. Instead, he’d been saddled with manga…which in itself wasn’t <em> horrible</em>, but it stung a bit that he hadn’t gotten what he’d initially aimed for. But sometimes you had to play with the hand life dealt you.</p><p>His phone dinged with a message, pulling him out of the story.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Contact: Tsukishima Kei</b>
</p><p>&gt; &gt; Looks like practice will be done around 3. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[13:11]</p><p>&gt; &gt; Would you like to meet at the station at 3:30? <b>~Tsukishima </b>[13:11]</p><p>&gt; &gt; There’s a bus close by that will take me about 10 minutes. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[13:11]</p><p>&lt; &lt; Sounds good. I have some places in mind we can go to. <b>~Akaashi </b>[13:12]</p><p> </p><p>And then, before he could rethink it,</p><p> </p><p>&lt; &lt; I’m looking forward to it. <b>~Akaashi </b>[13:12]</p><p>&gt; &gt; Me too. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[13:13]</p><p> </p><p>He polished his glasses on his shirt, ignoring the way his stomach flipped at Tsukishima’s reciprocation. There was nothing to be nervous about. They were just spending time together like normal, like they had over the past few days. It wasn’t like they’d be meeting for the first time with nothing to say.</p><p>He thought about Tsukishima standing on the train platform, sliding the material of Akaashi’s scarf between his long fingers. It really had looked ridiculously good on him. Akaashi chewed his bottom lip, staring at a spot on the ceiling.</p><p>Life had dealt him a pretty good hand when Tsukishima came to Tokyo. Maybe it was time for him to place his cards on the table.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tsukishima looked quite worn out when he found Akaashi at the station. His face was as impassive as ever, but tiredness was in the lines of his body and the slight droop of his neck as he walked over. Akaashi immediately scrubbed the idea of walking along Meguro River off his mental list.</p><p>“Did they run you ragged?” he asked sympathetically, holding out the bag with Tsukishima’s folded-up green jersey inside. He’d wanted to wash it, but it definitely wouldn’t have dried in time and he didn’t want to repeat a high school mistake and toss it in the dry cleaner.</p><p>Tsukishima took the bag with an inclination of his head, looking as if Akaashi’s words had physically hurt him. “The match yesterday…really got our coach fired up.”</p><p>“Another five-set game?” They left the station, Akaashi discreetly double-checking his phone for directions to Saigoyama Park.</p><p>“No, just lots of drills. Some three-on-three’s. Jumping.” He heaved a sigh, pulling something out from his sports bag and passing it to Akaashi. “<em>Flying falls</em>.”</p><p>He’d given back Akaashi’s scarf, neatly folded. Akaashi fingered it, resisting the involuntary urge to press it to his nose to see if it smelt like the jersey had. God, that would be so creepy. “How nostalgic,” he chose to say, tucking the scarf away in his satchel.</p><p>Tsukishima screwed up his face as if he’d eaten something regrettable. “Where are we going today?”</p><p>“Mm, so…” Akaashi bit back his nerves, because while Tsukishima had the capacity to be insultingly dismissive he’d never actually done so to <em> him</em>, “There’s a nice park nearby, and a shopping street a few blocks over from there. I also want to show you a really good onigiri place, one of my favourites, actually.”</p><p>“Oh, so <em> that’s </em> why you asked about onigiri last night?”</p><p>“Yes, I—” Akaashi paused, realising he’d totally skipped over providing context. “Well, now you know the reason. So don’t worry; I’m not going to drag you all over the ward.”</p><p>“This place is nice, actually,” Tsukishima said, looking up at a towering maple tree as they walked underneath. It was too early for the leaves to fall, but they were already changing colour. “Places like Skytree are so…there’s too many people.”</p><p>Akaashi had had a hunch Tsukishima would feel that way, and it was also the reason why he himself didn’t like those areas. Still, it was reassuring to know he’d been on the mark. He mentally patted himself on the back.</p><p>They came to the park, Akaashi stopping at a small vendor stand selling hot drinks while Tsukishima wandered over to a small koi pond, pinching his fingers above the water to bring the koi flocking. A minute and seven-hundred yen later, he joined Tsukishima at the pond and handed him a strawberry latte.</p><p>“Wait, you bought this for me?” Tsukishima asked confusedly, digging through his bag for his wallet. His face was flushed pink. “How much was it?” </p><p>Akaashi waved Tsukishima’s discomfiture away. “It’s on me.”</p><p>“…Thank you, Akaashi-san.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it,” Akaashi said, sipping his coffee so he could avoid meeting Tsukishima’s eyes.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They found a bench to sit on in the middle of the park, shaded by zelkova trees only just starting to develop splotches of golden-brown. They were like sunspots, almost glowing amidst the green.</p><p>The seating area overlooked a manmade river that ran throughout the grounds, in which a family of ducks were squabbling. The promenade was fairly deserted and the sun was dipping in the sky, lengthening the trees’ shadows and making the river water sparkle.</p><p>Tsukishima let out another quiet sigh as they sat down, cupping his hands around his almost-finished latte and closing his eyes. Akaashi felt a little ashamed. “I’m sorry. Practice must have been very tiring.”</p><p>Tsukishima cracked an eye open. “It <em> was </em> tiring, but… The captain and Koganegawa had been planning an after-practice outing with some of the team and honestly, I much prefer being with you.”</p><p><em> Ah, shit</em>.</p><p>“You don’t have to apologise for anything,” Tsukishima mumbled, shutting his eyes again firmly and turning his head away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The shopping street had ended up being a good choice, Akaashi found, bringing him another dash of relief. There had turned out to be not one, but several of those indie bookshops, each competing with the other on how trendy they could make their aesthetic. Tsukishima seemed pretty into it though; he’d been especially partial to a bookstore that doubled as a taxidermy and semiprecious stone gallery, taking his time flicking through encyclopaedias on animals Akaashi wasn’t even sure were real.</p><p>He’d found his own niches though, browsing through handmade stationary stores that offered postcards and diaries with bespoke lettering. The asymmetrical shelves of those shops often housed intriguing books, some of them even self-published. As it were, they both left that shopping district with their bags a little heavier for their purchases.</p><p>Akaashi checked his watch as they started up the road toward Onigiri Miya. It was now early evening—they’d been out a bit later than he’d thought. But that was probably because Tsukishima had actually dozed off when they were at Saigoyama Park, his head listing forward and fingers loosening on the takeaway latte cup. Akaashi had plucked it from his hands, but hadn’t had the heart to wake him.</p><p>Also, he’d liked looking.</p><p>He held that image in his mind now: of Tsukishima’s face unguarded and peaceful, his mouth drooping open slightly, giving him an air of vulnerability that made Akaashi want to trace that line from his cheekbone to his jaw to see if it was as smooth as it looked.</p><p>When Tsukishima had woken up he’d done so with an inhale so sharp he coughed on it, and those pale cheeks had blushed bright red. Akaashi had promised to never speak of it. (He hadn’t promised to never think of it.)</p><p>“Is the onigiri really so good at this place?” Tsukishima asked, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Any time I’ve seen onigiri at a restaurant or something, it just looks the same as the conbini versions.”</p><p>Akaashi scoffed before he could help himself. “You can’t compare this to a <em> conbini</em>,” he said scornfully. “There’s a FamilyMart next to the station if you’d prefer. You’d be going alone though.”</p><p>Tsukishima looked at him witheringly. Akaashi wanted to laugh.</p><p>“This is the place,” he announced, pointing across the road. The Tokyo branch of Onigiri Miya had only opened at the beginning of October but had quickly made a name for itself, so Akaashi had wanted to get there before the dinner rush hours. Designed with wooden walls and climbing vines, yet boasting a dark blue <em> noren </em> and slatted sliding door, the store’s design interwove an earthy, rustic air with Japanese traditionalism, perfect for the contemporary Naka-Meguro neighbourhood.</p><p>Akaashi was about to go to the door when he realised Tsukishima had stopped behind him. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>Tsukishima was scowling up at the sign. “<em>Miya</em>.”</p><p>Confusion gave him pause—then it hit Akaashi like a bolt of lightning. The Onigiri Miya brand was famous, so it made sense Tsukishima would recognise who owned it. The Miya twins’ team had been the one to eliminate Karasuno in the third round of Nationals in 2014 and the Miya’s themselves were an antagonistic duo so of <em> course </em> it made sense Tsukishima was holding a grudge and <em> shit </em> Akaashi had fucked up bringing him here, flaunting Karasuno’s failure in his face and <em> wow </em> he wanted to crawl in a hole for not even <em> thinking </em> about how Tsukishima would feel—</p><p>“If you’re vouching for the quality, Akaashi-san, I’ll trust you,” Tsukishima said, ducking past him under the <em> noren </em> and sliding the wooden door open.</p><p>It was like a splash of cold water to the face. Akaashi blinked wordlessly as the door shut, leaving him outside and Tsukishima firmly inside the restaurant named for his old enemies. Just like that. Just like that, Tsukishima had moved ahead.</p><p>The door opened again. Tsukishima peered out at him, a question in his eyes.</p><p>Akaashi exhaled, his welled-up anxiety sinking away, and followed him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I’m not going to forget about second year, but I can look the other way. For now.” Tsukishima stuffed the rest of the rice ball into his mouth. His ferocious chewing completely undermined his words.</p><p>Akaashi was busy devouring his own food and could only offer a muffled grunt in return, but he was pleased that his recommendation hadn’t missed the mark. Yet despite Tsukishima’s apparent enthusiasm, his appetite still seemed fairly small; he had only two of the hefty rice balls on his plate, along with the complimentary side of pickled ginger. Akaashi, on the other hand, had four: three seasonal flavours and the fourth, the store’s signature spicy cucumber.</p><p>The interior of Onigiri Miya was small but cosy, with simple square tables and chairs making up their seating arrangements. The tables were fairly small, so they’d chosen the counter seating, which offered a look into the kitchen where two chefs were moulding freshly cooked rice into steaming, delicious triangles. It seemed that Miya Osamu hadn’t chosen today to drop in on his Tokyo branch.</p><p>Akaashi had already packed away his kabocha-sesame onigiri. He couldn’t help eating it so fast—something about the rice here was incredibly moreish. Onigiri Miya’s onigiri were made to be inhaled. He bit into his second rice ball, a curry-spiced concoction in which bits of flaky fish were buried like gems. Steam puffed up around his face, fogging his glasses slightly.</p><p>“Need a tissue?” Tsukishima asked wryly.</p><p>Akaashi plucked off his glasses, colour and form returning to the misty white world. Next to him, Tsukishima’s outline was a little fuzzy.</p><p>“When did you get glasses, Akaashi-san? I don’t think you had them in school.”</p><p>“I didn’t.” Akaashi used the offered tissue to clean them and slid them back onto his nose. “I usually wore contacts during sports, but as for school itself, sometimes I…wouldn’t bother.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t navigating around half-blind be reason to bother?” Tsukishima scoffed.</p><p>“You try remembering to shove bits of plastic into your eyeballs at five-thirty in the morning,” Akaashi shot back. “Anyway, my grades were fine. I knew what was going on.” He blew carefully on his onigiri. “The eye strain grew worse in university though, so I had to get them.”</p><p>“If I didn’t wear glasses, I’d get headaches. Ever since I was a kid.”</p><p>“We should be grateful for man-made technology, otherwise natural selection would have gotten us long ago,” Akaashi said seriously.</p><p>“<em>Pfft </em>… Sometimes you surprise me, Akaashi-san,” Tsukishima snickered, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. There was a bit of rice stuck to his cheek. Akaashi leaned over and wiped it away with his thumb.</p><p>Time ground to a halt.</p><p>
  <em> Why did I do that? Why did I do that? Why did I do that? </em>
</p><p>Tsukishima stared at him, a blush sweeping across his face and rising to his ears. “You could have just told me there was food there.”</p><p>“Sorry, force of habit,” he said unconvincingly, cleaning his thumb on a napkin. <em> What did I just do? What was that? What is wrong with me? </em></p><p><em> What habit? </em> Tsukishima’s eyes were asking, but he simply said, “I see,” turning determinedly to his second onigiri as if it were the only thing in the world that existed.</p><p>In the midst of his turmoil, Akaashi suddenly became quite jealous of a rice ball.</p><p>He busied himself in his own meal, already compartmentalising the slip-up and shoving it far into the recesses of his mind. It would be something to deal with later, or another day, or perhaps never. Wanting to move past the awkward quiet that had descended, he abruptly asked, “Have you ever played the Hornets in an official match before?”</p><p>Tsukishima shook his head. “Not yet; we weren’t matched up with them in the first leg. They’re going to be our first game in the second round.”</p><p>“I see.” He took a sip of his beer. “That tall setter you have, his technique was a little rough, but there’s potential…did he come from a powerhouse school?”</p><p>“Koganegawa? He’s from Date Tech, in my prefecture. They’re not considered a powerhouse, but they did go to Nationals once. We took that position from them the next year though,” Tsukishima added, looking smug.</p><p>Date Tech…the name felt like it might have been familiar, but it wasn’t ringing any bells. Fukurodani <em> had </em> lost in the second round of Nationals though, so Akaashi just may never have faced them. “What’s he like as a setter?” he asked, genuinely curious.</p><p>Tsukishima eyed him. “He’s a strong setter, good at read-blocking,” he began almost reluctantly, as if praise was an effort, “still not great with the thinking…not like you. He’s not even an actual member of the team yet. Coach invited him to training to get a feel for professional games, but he’s only joining officially next year.”</p><p>Akaashi wondered how he’d have dealt with a tall setter like that, who could build up mountainous attacks for their team. “Has he introduced any new techniques?”</p><p>“A few, I guess? They’re all instinctual though.” Tsukishima screwed up his nose as if instincts were a bad smell. “Described in grunts and hand waves. The complete opposite of those plays we talked about in school.”</p><p>“Oh, like the time lag attack?”</p><p>“I <em> like </em> using that move,” Tsukishima said with self-satisfaction. “It really riles up the other team.”</p><p>“I guess that’s my legacy.” Akaashi hid his smile by taking a bite of his last onigiri.</p><p>“Koganegawa can’t do it properly, but the current setter can.” Tsukishima tapped his fingers on the table; Akaashi fought not to stare at them. “I want to use it on Friday.”</p><p>“So that’s when the second leg starts?”</p><p>“Yes, at twelve.”</p><p>“I wish I could go watch,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, the office is…well. Fairly demanding.” He frowned at the far wall, suddenly picturing the ways Udai-san was going to slack off. The upcoming chapter involved quite a bit of research, too, which meant he’d be neck-deep in papers and fact-checking. Not to mention the stress of the other mangakas he was overseeing.</p><p>“You’d want to come?” Tsukishima sounded surprised.</p><p>“Yes, I wouldn’t want to miss a disciple of Bokuto’s playing.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes. “Go to a Jackals match.”</p><p>Akaashi hadn’t been lying though, he <em> did </em> want to see Tsukishima play, or at the very least, wish him luck before his game. A “good luck” text message should have been satisfactory, but when he thought about it, it felt like it just…wasn’t enough. He didn’t understand why, but maybe, the traitorous part of himself whispered, maybe it had something to do with why he’d Googled “date spots” that morning instead of a normal “tourist spots”. </p><p>Akaashi pressed his fingertips together, thinking. He knew he was pushing it, what with their busy schedules, but he was compelled to ask anyway. “You’re welcome to decline,” he said tentatively, “but are you free on Tuesday evening?”</p><p>Tsukishima furrowed his brow, clearly turning over his response in his head. “I might be…” he said eventually, and Akaashi’s heart swooped. “You’d be busy at work though, correct?”</p><p>He <em> would </em>be, but he didn’t live at the company. Tsukishima would be tired from practice, so he wouldn’t want to be dragged all over Tokyo, and Akaashi would be tired from work and wouldn’t want to do the dragging. Then the idea occurred to him and was out of his mouth before he considered the logistics. “I could…cook?”</p><p>“You could?” Tsukishima said in disbelief. “I mean—that sounded—I mean, you <em> would</em>?”</p><p>Akaashi nodded firmly, although internally he was in shambles at having blurted out that offer. “Consider it a good luck gift, for Friday. I’ll be back home around seven-thirty, so you can show up any time after that.”</p><p>Tsukishima’s eyes seemed to almost glow. “You’re inviting me over, right?” he asked uncertainly.</p><p>“I am.” Akaashi breathed out slowly, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. “But if—”</p><p>“Yes,” Tsukishima cut him off quickly, still sounding a little nonplussed. “I’m free then.”</p><p>“I’ll get you a cardboard cutout of Kuroo you could take with you to the match,” Akaashi offered casually, but he knew if he went and suggested that to Kuroo the VBA promoter would be <em> all </em> over it.</p><p>Tsukishima outright sniggered, his eyes crinkled in mocking amusement. “If you actually did that, Akaashi-san, I’d leave.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I commissioned <a href="https://twitter.com/kuehjpg/status/1311304817168408576?s=20">@iris</a> for the Onigiri Miya scene!! Please go check out their adorable art!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>apologies in advance for any odd punctuation! copy pasting from google docs &gt; ao3 is being kind of a pain...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Monday mornings at the office always started quietly. The mangakas would be reviewing their feedback and organising pitches for their chapters, their teams would be typesetting and formatting, and editors would be jotting down notes and researching anything from Southeast Asian martial arts techniques to 1960s American fashion.</p><p>It was around 11 o’clock that the sheaves of paper would begin periodically appearing next to Akaashi’s elbow, neatly stacking onto the existing pile there. Pitches and rough sketches from his mangakas, clients he needed to contact, requests from his superiors…</p><p>“Why can’t they just email me?” he muttered under his breath at that last one, squinting at the paper. It looked like it had been faxed over. How suitably old-fashioned.</p><p>“Nomura wouldn’t recognise a computer if it hit him in the face,” Udai-san grunted from his cubicle next door, referring to their supervisor. He was sketching a messy impression of a double-page spread artwork for his new volleyball manga. As Akaashi watched, he scrunched up the paper and tossed it in the wastepaper basket by his feet.</p><p>“How’s your chapter coming along?” he asked drily. Despite the early hour, the mangaka was already looking a little feral.</p><p>“Please ask me again on Wednesday, Akaashi-san,” he replied, although they both knew Akaashi would be checking in several times each day like a <em> responsible </em> magazine editor should.</p><p>Akaashi swivelled his chair back to face his paperwork, having already decided to make that check up in an hour. Mondays started slow; Udai-san started slower.</p><p><em> Focus </em>, he told himself sternly, picking up the phone to make a call to a client.</p><p>Noon slid by as he buried himself in his work, keeping tabs on the mangakas’ progress (Udai-san had developed six different versions of the double-page art) and updating spreadsheets every now and then. He was chewing the end of his pen, staring at an article on the Egyptian embalming process, when an incessant tapping on the edge of his desk caught his attention. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>Udai-san was leaning over from his chair, a ruler dangling between his fingers. “Finally,” sighed the man, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “I’ve been doing that for the past minute.”</p><p>“You’ll disturb the others, Udai-san,” Akaashi admonished absentmindedly, scrolling through his article. The mangaka he was fact-checking for had described her mummified side character’s backstory in a level of detail that would make inaccuracies stick out like sore thumbs.</p><p>“Nobody’s here,” Udai-san said flatly.</p><p>“Oh?” He raised his head properly, scanning the small office room. It was indeed mostly deserted.</p><p>“It’s lunch hour,” Udai-san said, by way of explanation. “I’m heading to the conbini. Do you want to go together?”</p><p>Akaashi closed his laptop, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Gladly.” </p><p>They left the lonely office, Udai-san perking up once he stood in the sun. Sometimes he reminded Akaashi of a temperamental houseplant that wilted if you left it for more than a day.</p><p>His phone rang as they crossed the road. Akaashi felt he knew who it was before he even took it out of his pocket—only one person on his contacts list preferred to call first rather than text.</p><p>“<em>Akaashi!</em>” Bokuto’s cheery voice boomed through the speaker. “<em>How’s it going?</em>”</p><p>“Hi, Bokuto-san.” The team was probably on their lunch break, too. “It’s alright. Busy. What about you?”</p><p>“<em>It’s going great here, I’m teaching Ninja Shouyou a new attack!</em>” He’d probably gotten Hinata to call him <em> Master</em>, if that proud tone was anything to go by. “<em>But that’s not why I called! Will ya be free on Tuesday? The team’s got a half-day practice, so our evening’s gonna be open!</em>”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’ll be busy then,” Akaashi said, with a touch of regret. It had been a while since he’d spent time with Bokuto face-to-face.</p><p>“<em>Ah, really?</em>” he said dejectedly. “<em>I don’t think he’s got time, Hinata.” There was a muffled response Akaashi couldn’t make out. “What’s happening? Work?</em>”</p><p>“No, I’m meeting up with someone,” he said, not sure why he was being evasive.</p><p>“<em>Oooh, who’s the lucky person?</em>”</p><p>“What? No, it’s not like that. …Tsukishima’s coming over.”</p><p>“<em>Wha— </em> Tsukki<em>?</em>” Bokuto bawled into his ear. Akaashi winced. Udai-san glanced at him curiously.</p><p>“<em>Eehh, Tsukishima and Akaashi-san are hanging out again?</em>” the voice in the background asked.</p><p>“Is that Hinata?”</p><p>“<em>You bet! Don’t avoid the question!</em>”</p><p>“You didn’t ask one, but I’ve got a question for him,” Akaashi said suddenly, wondering if Hinata’s presence was one of those fabled fortuitous events sent by the gods.</p><p>“<em>Hey, I asked: </em> ‘Tsukki <em> ?’ Is that not enough?!</em>”</p><p>“Just please pass the phone over, Bokuto-san?”</p><p>“<em>Agh, fine, fine. Hinata!</em>” he called out. “<em>Akaashi wants to talk to you! You better tell me details</em>,” he hissed to Akaashi.</p><p>“<em>To </em> me<em>? </em> ” Hinata’s far away voice sounded over the moon. There was a jostling noise as he took the phone from Bokuto. “<em>Hi, Akaashi-san! How are you?</em>”</p><p>The beam was palpable in his voice, making Akaashi’s lips twitch in response. “I’m good. How’s practice going?”</p><p>“<em>It’s fun! I’ve been spiking a lot today. Also, Atsumu-kun tried to copy Bokuto-san’s chest receive and he busted his nose</em>,” Hinata sniggered.</p><p>Akaashi didn’t know Miya Atsumu well enough to laugh at him, but he was inclined to think Tsukishima would have no such reservations. “I wanted to ask you something, Hinata-kun.”</p><p>“<em>Yep! </em>”</p><p>“I guess you heard Tsukishima’s coming over.” Akaashi felt his cheeks grow hot. “Do you happen to know what food he likes?”</p><p>“<em>Are you cooking?</em>” Hinata sounded positively starry eyed.</p><p>“Akaashi’s cooking?” Bokuto’s distant voice demanded. Akaashi could picture his hands getting grabby for the phone and prayed Hinata was as nimble off the court as he was on it.</p><p>“<em>That’s right</em>,” he said shortly. “<em>So, would you know, Hinata-kun?</em>”</p><p>“<em>What food Tsukishima likes...what food Tsukishima likes…. Other than strawberry shortcake?</em>”</p><p>“Yes, like dinner food.”</p><p>There was a pause on the other end, followed by a thoughtful <em> hrrnng </em> sound. “<em>Umm…I’d need to ask Yamaguchi but I think Tsukishima eats whatever…. Sukiyaki? Barbecue? Ah, those are hard to make at home if you don’t have the pots and stuff…</em>” He trailed off.</p><p>Akaashi waited, ignoring the furtive glances Udai-san was giving him.</p><p>“<em>You know, I don’t think you need to worry. He’ll like whatever you make, ‘cause it’s you, Akaashi-san</em>.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“<em>Whaddya mean?</em>” Bokuto’s voice echoed, suddenly becoming sharp and loud in Akaashi’s ear. “<em>You’re making dinner for Tsukki?</em>” he demanded.</p><p>“<em>Wait—wait, Bokuto-san—</em>” There was a scuffling sound, then Hinata’s voice returned again, clearer. Akaashi heard some indignant protests in the background. “<em>I mean, Tsukishima was always kinda different around you! Ever since that first Tokyo training camp we went on. I mean I </em> know <em> we were friends even though he’d </em> hate <em> to hear me say that, but he actually liked you straight away</em>.”</p><p>“Oh?” In school, Akaashi had suspected that—after all, Tsukishima had always looked at him differently than he had to Bokuto and Kuroo, and even most of his Karasuno teammates. Still, it was nice to hear it. In fact, it gave him a warm, fluttery feeling in his chest.</p><p>“<em>Yeah! So if you’re making him something he’ll probably like it. And if he didn’t like it he wouldn’t actually </em> say <em> so, I think…</em>”</p><p>The fluttery feeling took a nosedive into his stomach.</p><p>“<em>We went to this curry place after my second match in Sendai</em>,” Hinata continued. “<em>I think he liked that? Curry’s easy to make, right?</em>”</p><p>“It is.” And sweeter curries were quite popular, too. He hoped Tsukishima would be honest if he hated it. “Thank you, Hinata-kun. I hope the rest of your practice goes well.”</p><p>“<em>No problem! Please watch our game if you have time!</em>”</p><p>He always made it a point to check up on Bokuto’s games—even if he couldn’t watch them, he kept tabs on the scores. “Of course. See you.”</p><p>“<em>Bye!</em>”</p><p>He and Udai-san had reached the conbini, which was fairly busy with the office worker lunchtime rush. Akaashi shouldered his way to the refrigerated foods as Bokuto came back on the line. “<em>It’s only ‘cause Hinata doesn’t know you super well that he didn’t bury you with questions. He’s actually vibrating</em>.”</p><p>“Ah.” A stab of realisation and panic. “Can you ask him not to talk to Tsukishima about this?”</p><p>“<em>Hah! He won’t be happy!</em>” Bokuto’s voice turned sly. “<em>You owe me details, ‘Kaashi, details!</em>”</p><p>Akaashi picked up a sandwich. “Oh no, my supervisor is coming. He’s carrying a bunch of papers. I have to go.”</p><p>Further down the aisle, Udai-san raised both eyebrows at him.</p><p>“<em>I want to hear everything later!</em>” Bokuto ordered.</p><p>He knew from experience he wouldn’t be able to escape, even if Bokuto was on the other side of the world, much less in the same city. “Yes, yes, sure,” he said tiredly, hanging up.</p><p>Udai-san was eyeing him as they lined up at the registers. “Everything okay?” Why he was giving Akaashi that squinted thoughtful look, Akaashi wasn’t sure.</p><p>“Yes, it’s fine now.” In his mind, he was running over the different ways to make a sweet curry. Grated apple was a classic, also one of his mother’s favourites.</p><p>Udai-san hummed lightly to himself, studying Akaashi out of the corner of his eye as they exited the store and walked back up the street. It was slightly distracting, as Akaashi was trying to remember the closest patisserie to his apartment that made strawberry shortcakes.</p><p>He finally caved. “Is there something wrong?”</p><p>Udai-san blinked at him innocently. “No, nothing.” And then, “You can cook?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was six o’clock when he returned home. Taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, Akaashi sighed, remembering his promise. If he didn’t keep it, Bokuto would take it to heart and either a) mope or b) blow up his phone, so he bit the bullet and called.</p><p>Bokuto picked up on the second ring. “<em>Ooh, finally. Hang on, let me get away from the guys</em>.”</p><p>“You’re with the team? Don’t let me interrupt—”</p><p>“<em>Don’t hang up on me! I’m outside now. </em> Alone<em>, don’t worry. Hit me</em>.”</p><p>“There’s not much to <em> hit </em> with.” Akaashi wandered over to the couch and sat down, crossing his ankles together. “We’re just having dinner at mine. It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>“<em>You want to impress him though, right?</em>”</p><p>“Like any good host would.”</p><p>“<em>Did you know, Hinata told me you took Tsukki to Onigiri Miya on Sunday,</em>” Bokuto said, jumping from one thought to the next in a very Bokuto-like fashion.<em> “You didn’t tell me! Or Kuroo! Please say you took at least </em> one <em> picture!</em>”</p><p>“I didn’t take any,” Akaashi said, disconcerted by the sudden change in subject. “How did Hinata know that?”</p><p>“<em>They </em> are <em> friends, it might’ve come up, who knows?</em>”</p><p>A logical point. Well, it explained why Hinata had said “again” when he’d heard Tsukishima was going over to Akaashi’s. </p><p>“<em>You invited him out so soon after seeing him on Friday</em>,” Bokuto mused. “<em>And he actually agreed to go—you didn’t strong-arm him or anything, right?</em>”</p><p>“Of course not.”</p><p>“<em>Tsukishima was never the social type, can’t imagine he’d pull a one-eighty just like that. How did you get so close to his heart?</em>” Bokuto sounded like he was pouting.</p><p>“I—I wouldn’t say that.” Akaashi stumbled over his words and wanted to kick himself.</p><p>“<em>Wish I could talk to him to see what he thinks. I’m still bummed I couldn’t go on Friday to see you guys. Did Tsukki say what his new team was like?</em>” Bokuto’s voice oozed pride, as if he was personally responsible for Tsukishima getting scouted.</p><p>“He likes them. There are some odd guys, but they’re pretty strong.”</p><p>“<em>Yeah?</em>”</p><p>“I saw them practising the other day.” If he closed his eyes, he could see the afterimage of Tsukishima’s kill block. The way his body stretched up, reaching, dominating. “When they get to the first division, the Jackals might be in trouble.”</p><p>“<em>Where’s your confidence in </em> me<em>?</em>” Bokuto demanded. “<em>Wait, you saw his practice yesterday?</em>”</p><p>“No, it was Saturday,” Akaashi said, then realised his mistake. Bokuto stuttered, then crowed.</p><p>“<em>So what, we have Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and now tomorrow. You guys must really like each other’s company, hey!</em>”</p><p>“We’re just friends,” Akaashi insisted. It was a perfectly ordinary thing to say, yet the words tasted awkward and misplaced on his tongue.</p><p>“<em>Uh huh, and?</em>”</p><p>“There’s no ‘and’!” he argued, even as he thought about their trip to Naka-Meguro and how he’d felt planning it. How he’d wanted it to be a date. How it <em> felt </em> like a date. “We’re just having dinner together. It doesn’t mean anything.”</p><p>“<em>I never said it didn’t </em> not <em> mean anything</em>,” Bokuto replied, surprisingly coherent for once. “<em>Making the moves on our Tsukki, ‘Kaashi? When did </em> that <em> happen?</em>”</p><p>“Bokuto-san, you— He’s not—” All of a sudden, something inside him crumbled. “Fine. <em> Fine </em>. I— I think I—” He struggled to find the correct words, to express whatever confusion was holed up in his heart.</p><p>Bokuto, blessedly, stayed quiet.</p><p>“I think I like him,” he said in a rush. “A bit. More. I don’t know. It’s been just <em> three days </em>.”</p><p>“<em>And like, two years</em>,” his friend pointed out. “<em>You talked about him in your last year, you know. Kind of a lot? But that was just to me. Did the team hear about him too?</em>”</p><p>They hadn’t, because Akaashi was self-aware enough to only talk about mutual friends <em> with </em> mutual friends, not with a team that didn’t know them. However, he recalled with startling clarity how he’d usually have Tsukishima in mind when correcting the Fukurodani blockers’ forms.</p><p>“It’s been four years since then,” he pointed out numbly. “We grew apart.”</p><p>“<em>Hm, lemme think. How does it feel talking to him now? Is it weird? Like, does he feel like a stranger?</em>”</p><p>“The complete opposite,” Akaashi said honestly. “That’s why it’s weird. It’s too fast.”</p><p>Bokuto was silent for a moment, then he asked plainly, “<em>Are you scared, Akaashi?</em>”</p><p>Whatever Akaashi was going to say stuck in his throat. His gaze fixed on his lap, mouth trying to form words that wouldn’t come.</p><p>“<em>I can’t really say do what you’ve always done, because it’s not like this happens all the time to you, right?</em>” Bokuto chuckled. “<em>But, ‘Kaashi, if you </em> are <em> scared, it’s okay</em>.”</p><p><em> It’s okay </em>.</p><p>“I think I am,” Akaashi said quietly, looking at the manga still resting on the coffee table. He hadn’t moved it since Tsukishima had put it down.</p><p>“<em>Yup, and like I said, that’s okay</em>,” Bokuto said with unexpected gentleness. “<em>Not always having a plan…that’s also okay. Wanna know how I get out of being scared?</em>”</p><p>Akaashi tipped his head back, shuttering his eyes. “Sure.”</p><p>Bokuto’s voice grew stronger, as if he’d drawn himself up to his full height. “<em>I take that scaredness</em>,” there was a dull thud; he had probably thumped his chest, “<em>take it and uh…feel it, yeah, feel it, ‘cause once I feel it I can move through it, and when I break through that—!</em>”</p><p>It sounded like he, in his own way, was trying to help someone get out of a volleyball funk. Bokuto had definitely changed since high school, but in many aspects he was still the same. Akaashi felt a smile break over his face at the familiarity of it.</p><p>“<em>—when I break through that, it just gets easier to breathe, I might feel dizzy or empty or something but it’s become part of what’s behind me. Uh, the past, that’s it—it’s become part of the past. Without grabbing it in the first place I never would’ve gone forward. You feel?</em>”</p><p>“…I think I know what you mean.”</p><p>A gusty sigh of relief. “<em>‘Course you do, you’re smart</em>.” Bokuto laughed then, loudly and heartily. “<em>And Hinata wasn’t wrong, Tsukki likes you the most. Of course, he respects </em> me <em> the most, since I taught him everything he knows</em>.”</p><p>“Actually, I think that was Kuroo-san.”</p><p>“<em>Don’t betray me!</em>”</p><p>Akaashi breathed out a laugh, feeling the knot in his chest loosen and relax. He sank back into the couch, gazing at the ceiling. “Tsukishima <em> might </em> have liked me the most, but that was in school,” he murmured, not without a nugget of doubt.</p><p>“<em>He’s hanging out with you now, isn’t he? Even though it’s mid-season, he’s still a busy young uni student, and he’s just a prickly guy in general?</em>”</p><p>“Yeah. Even then.”</p><p>“<em>You’ll be okay, Akaashi</em>,” Bokuto told him confidently. “<em>And if anything, I don’t think our Tsukki would ever hate you</em>.”</p><p>Of course, Bokuto had hit right on the heart of the matter. Sometimes he and Akaashi operated on different wavelengths, but other times they’d reach the same page and understand exactly what the other was thinking.</p><p>“Thanks,” Akaashi mumbled. “Also, he’s not ‘our Tsukki’.”</p><p>“<em>Oh yeah, he’s yours</em>.” A snicker. “<em>Tell me how it goes tomorrow?</em>”</p><p>And then he hung up before Akaashi could respond.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>[stares at ceiling] bokuto is such a good character to channel advice though....we should all listen to the bokutos in our head....</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="small">this was one of my favourite chapters to write</span>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tuesday’s work day passed by achingly slow. What would have been a blur of papers, phone calls, and discussions was continuously disrupted by randomly alternating jolts of anticipation and apprehension, and one very stubborn memory. Akaashi should have been working methodically like usual, except his brain kept bouncing back from chapter outlines to his conversation with Bokuto last night, unfurling his friend’s words like an audible banner in his eardrums.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>If you </em>are<em> scared, it’s okay</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">…<em>once I feel it I can move through it…</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Oh yeah, he’s yours</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That last line in particular was circling around his head like the Yamanote, swaying and looping and endless. He fisted his hand through his hair in frustration, staring at his work without seeing it. It felt like the clock in the corner of his computer screen had been showing the same number for at least an hour. Akaashi drummed his fingers on the desk; bounced his leg on the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re throwing me off my game,” Udai-san groused from beside him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Sorry.” Akaashi corrected his posture, fidgeting with his pen nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Focus, Akaashi-san,” Udai-san said in such an obvious impression of him that Akaashi narrowed his eyes. The mangaka snorted, scribbling away on his spread of sketch paper. “Two hours to go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he didn’t finish his work for today, he’d be stuck doing overtime. Akaashi had been working there long enough to know how overtime could stretch itself effortlessly from thirty minutes to three hours, and the thought of cancelling on Tsukishima made his gut clench. It was this thought that spurred him to push his glasses up his nose, glare at his computer like it was threatening a newborn, and open his notebook to jot down a task list.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once he’d mapped out what he needed to do, it became easier to centre his headspace again. Run proposals by the supervisor, cross it off the list. Finish reviewing a chapter and consulting its author, crossed off the list. Check on Udai-san—who has actually finished his double-spread!—crossed off. Finally, he reached the end of it, and with that last phone call, his duties for the day were finished. Akaashi thumbed his forehead, exhaling slowly. 18:01, the clock read. Just sixteen minutes past official clock-out time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tucked his laptop and notebooks away in his shoulder bag, standing up in one swift motion. “Good work today. I’ll be leaving now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm?” Udai-san looked up from his notebook, where he’d been writing several lines of dialogue. “See you tomorrow…” His gaze focused and he added a cheery, “Have fun!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi kept his face carefully blank. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The commute back passed by uneventfully, although Akaashi was constantly checking his phone to see if there were any new messages. On Monday he and Tsukishima had swapped some texts and pictures of the Sendai Frogs’ practice, but Akaashi had mentioned Tuesday was going to be busy. He stared at Tsukishima’s last message—a simple <em>Good luck tomorrow</em>—wondering if that mention had prompted the silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The train to his workplace took about forty minutes, so when Akaashi reached his station, it was 6:50. That gave him enough time to stop by a patisserie on the way home and pick up some slices of strawberry shortcake, and then twenty or thirty minutes, depending on when Tsukishima chose to show up, to prepare dinner. It was ample time but he walked quickly anyway, ducking in and out of the little shop, his coat flapping behind him a little as he approached his apartment block building.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The cakes were carefully placed in the fridge; the curry ingredients were removed and juggled onto the countertop. Chicken, carrot, potato, onion, and apple and honey for sweetness. The curry roux was store-bought, because while Akaashi knew he could follow a recipe, he also preferred convenience. Besides, it tasted good, which was what mattered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Tsukishima wasn’t a curry snob, surely. <em>Surely</em>.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hung up his coat and work sweater into his room, loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, then went back into the kitchen. He put on a random Spotify playlist to listen to as he worked, washing rice and dumping it in the rice cooker, peeling and chopping vegetables and tossing them into the pot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima was probably on the train by now. Akaashi stirred the chicken with vigour, wincing when he splattered oil onto his hand. He could envision Tsukishima with his headphones clamped firmly around his ears, shutting out the world with his music. Akaashi cast an anxious glance at his phone, where some female artist was crooning nonsensical lyrics. He didn’t know what kind of music Tsukishima liked; hopefully the younger man didn’t think this playlist was shit and drop the phone in the sink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>He wouldn’t do that</em>, Akaashi told himself, grating half the giant apple and dicing the rest. <em>Tsukishima’s a reasonable human being</em>. He almost chopped his thumb and recoiled, the knife clattering on the ground. He picked it up and went to wash it, almost dropping it again when the doorbell rang.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Coming,” he called out, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, trying to ignore how his pulse had picked up. God, it was like he was a kid all over again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ran a hand through his hair as he walked down the hall, hoping it was somewhat tidy, and opened the door. He knew it would be Tsukishima outside, yet when he saw that tall figure and tousled blonde hair, his heart gave a single painful bound.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima was in casual clothes, which for some reason Akaashi hadn’t expected, dressed in knee-length shorts and a dark olive-green sweater, under which a collared shirt poked out. There was a small stegosaurus patch attached to the left breast of the sweater. It was quite adorable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello,” Akaashi managed to get out, his voice remaining completely steady. He kind of wished Tsukishima had worn longer pants.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi. I’m sorry I’m a bit late—I missed the earlier train,” Tsukishima said, and offered him a paper bag, patterned with an elegant graphic. “I got this, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it?” Akaashi accepted it and moved aside, letting him in. For one instant they were painfully close. His chest tightened at the proximity.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thankfully Tsukishima went over to the shoe rack, leaving only the impression of his presence behind. Akaashi composed himself and peered into the bag, trying to make out what two small boxes inside were. “Wait, cake?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima shifted awkwardly. “Tiramisu. You like that, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He did. “I do,” Akaashi said, hearing the slight giddiness in his voice and feeling foolish. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima shrugged, but his face had coloured. “It’s just polite.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d remembered what Akaashi had ordered that other night? Going to the kitchen to tuck away the cake beside what he’d bought earlier, Akaashi found a silly little grin on his face. It wasn’t that he was crazy about tiramisu—or desserts in general, really—but the fact that Tsukishima had remembered something so inconsequential made him feel light inside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A cynical voice in his head whispered that he was reading too much into it. <em>It’s just polite</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Curry, huh?” Tsukishima had followed him in and was looking at the packet of roux next to the simmering pot. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh huh. Curry’s part of a balanced diet,” Akaashi said, silencing that pessimistic muttering and turning to chop the rest of the apple. “Nutrition is important, especially when it’s mid-season.” He scooped up the apple and dumped it in with the other ingredients.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Understood, <em>mother</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The mocking lilt in Tsukishima’s voice made Akaashi look at him, his brow furrowed, when he saw Tsukishima’s lips were curled in a little smirk. The urge to frown was swiftly replaced by the urge to kiss that smirk off his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi quickly turned back to the stove. His face was burning, but it had nothing to do with the steam. “Go ahead to the living room, I’m almost done in here,” he said, lidding the curry.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Kay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He felt himself sag a bit in relief when Tsukishima left the kitchen. Despite his aloof attitude, there had been something heady about his presence that Akaashi felt when he got too close. He bit his lip: now that it was gone, he wasn’t sure if he’d just imagined it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a thump and a clatter from outside, followed by a curse. Akaashi peered out into the living room. “Did you drop something?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima was leaning against the wall, where it looked like he’d stumbled against it, pressing his hand against his calf. He had a black look on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, it’s just my leg.” Tsukishima limped slightly as he walked toward the dining table, Akaashi following with concern. “It cramped during practice and I—ow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ve been drinking lots of water, right?” Akaashi pressed, aware he sounded more than ever like a mother hen. “Sports drinks too, for the electrolytes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima braced himself on the back of a chair, stretching his leg out. “I thought it was better already,” he said exasperatedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s not an answer,” Akaashi pointed out, going to the kitchen to get a glass of water. When he returned, Tsukishima was rubbing the back of his calf with his foot. “They didn’t have first aid on hand?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks,” he said, accepting the glass and taking a drink. “They did, but it was just a cramp, not a sprain or muscle pull. I stretched it out and everything. It was fine on the way here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It doesn’t seem fine now,” Akaashi observed. He knew how the discomfort of untended leg cramps could linger and he wanted to point out that although unlikely, if left alone it could possibly impact Friday’s match. But Tsukishima wasn’t stupid, he’d already know that, and he’d hate it if he felt he was being lectured.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even that simple statement had Tsukishima grimacing. “I’m <em>fine</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi folded his arms, suddenly feeling quite stubborn himself. “No, you’re not. Sit down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima blinked at him over the half-empty glass, obviously taken aback. “Akaashi-san—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sit,” Akaashi ordered flatly, mentally running through the steps on taking care of muscle cramps. It had been a few years since he’d had to pull on this knowledge, but he was confident it was there. If Tsukishima wanted to be pig-headed about his health, he could do so once V.League season was over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Blessedly, Tsukishima followed his instruction without any more protests. It was almost odd how docile he was being—Akaashi had expected more objections. Still, it would make this easier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knelt in front of the chair, folding his legs under him. “Alright,” he said, patting his lap.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh-what?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He quirked an eyebrow; wasn’t it obvious? “Your leg,” he said, patting his lap again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um.” Tsukishima lifted his foot in its sock uncertainly, as if he was worried he’d misheard, or simply thought Akaashi was going crazy. Akaashi had no time for beating around the bush though, and grabbed the hovering foot, holding it firmly above his lap.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s been a while since I played, but I <em>do</em> remember the self muscle therapy they taught us,” he said, grasping Tsukishima’s heel and straightening out his leg carefully. He had to shuffle backwards a bit, having forgotten to account for the length of the middle blocker’s legs. “Calf cramp only?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Tsukishima said, glaring at the floor. He didn’t seem angry at Akaashi, but rather at himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi carefully pushed Tsukishima’s leg up accordingly, straightening up some to lengthen the stretch. Tsukishima let out a hiss of pain, red smattering across his cheeks and nose. His fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Akaashi said nothing, but he knew his gaze was disapproving when he met Tsukishima’s eyes. Tsukishima at least had the grace to look away first. “I was going to stretch it out more,” he mumbled rebelliously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh huh,” Akaashi replied, feeling the calf muscles shift under his fingertips as he continued the stretch, flexing Tsukishima’s foot with his right hand. There were definite knots throughout, signs it hadn’t been taken care of as much as it could have been.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ach.” Tsukishima grunted in pain as Akaashi lowered his leg and pressed his knuckles against the flesh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not smart to overwork your body like this,” Akaashi chided absently, beginning to work his fingers from ankle to under the knee. The long, slender length of Tsukishima’s leg meant it would take a while. Even though the muscle was drawn taut under his touch, he noted, Tsukishima’s skin was still very soft.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A shaky exhale. “I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m being serious,” he heard himself say, remembering how in his first year, the Fukurodani coach had once mercilessly berated some players after they had practiced a week straight with no rest days. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>know</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi continued massaging Tsukishima’s calf, feeling the knots slowly begin to loosen. His skin was very warm. There was a small mole on the side of his knee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bokuto did this once in school, he had a cramp and said it felt better—next thing you know, he’s out of commission for a week. And he—” Akaashi pressed into the muscle, feeling it spasm slightly under his fingers, “—he was being such an idiot—” The fine hairs on Tsukishima’s leg were pale blonde, flecking his skin with strips of light, “—I’m not sure if he realised how annoyed we all were was, and—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Akaashi-san,” Tsukishima said a little breathlessly. “I think you’re rambling.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I’m not.” He kneaded at Tsukishima’s slender leg, fingers moving somewhat slower than necessary. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You were.” His voice sounded strangled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi frowned; he had just pushed the heel of his hand just below the crook of Tsukishima’s knee—it shouldn’t have caused a great amount of discomfort. “You will tell me if this gets too much?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was no answer. Tsukishima’s whole leg had tensed up and—oh. Akaashi slowly raised his head, heat rushing through his body as he realised what he was actually doing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima had the side of his hand pressed against his mouth and his head was tilted to the side, his eyes screwed shut. His face had gone from faint red to scarlet. Akaashi looked back down, to where his fingertips made soft indents on the inside of Tsukishima’s thigh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All his thoughts promptly flew right out of his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was touching Tsukishima. He was touching Tsukishima’s <em>legs</em>, the legs he couldn’t seem to stop looking at half the time they were together. It hadn’t even clicked properly in his mind when he’d offered to help with the calf cramp, too busy thinking about Nationals games and muscle therapy and angry Fukurodani coaches but also noticing, always noticing, the little details patterned across that pale expanse of skin. <em>I’m sorry</em>, he thought he should say, but if Tsukishima hadn’t killed him, that meant...</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the lack of movement, Tsukishima opened his eyes, looking resolutely at the floor next to Akaashi. His blush was still deep red and very, very present. His mouth opened, closed, opened again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not,” Tsukishima said to the ground.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seemed to take an age, but Tsukishima finally looked at him directly, his golden eyes dark. “Too much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A shiver ran through Akaashi’s body. There was no mistaking the intent in that expression, no mistaking how Tsukishima’s body had leaned forward slightly as if pulled by some magnetism. He felt like he was on the edge of a precipice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If it hurts,” he said, voice coming out gravelly, “tell me, and I’ll stop.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright,” Tsukishima breathed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Akaashi touched him this time, he was slow, almost hesitant now his purpose had changed. He gradually allowed his hands to become more exploratory, brushing over Tsukishima’s Achilles’ tendon, fingers sweeping in strong arcs up his calf, sliding over his knee. Unhurried. Lingering.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pragmatism with which he’d approached the massage before had vanished to a single thread, a filament that had him still feeling for the knots and rubbing tiny circles into them, causing Tsukishima to shift slightly, but never pull away. He was being self-indulgent this time though, not clinical, palming and then squeezing the curve of sore muscles with care.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was rewarded for it in the slight, involuntary twitches Tsukishima’s body gave with each attentive caress; the hitched, barely audible inhales when Akaashi’s fingertips grazed the junction between toned calf and thigh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does this hurt?” he murmured, massaging circles around the ligament there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Tsukishima said. Choked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pushed his fingers further upward, slipping under the hem of Tsukishima’s shorts. Tsukishima sucked in a sharp breath, his leg falling outward slightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi looked up through half-lidded eyes, and was a bit awed at what he saw. Unlike what Tsukishima’s quiet, restrained noises implied, his face told an entirely different story. Cheeks crimson, jaw flexing, chest rising and falling erratically as he struggled to even his breathing. And his eyes were wide, were dark with pupils blown against tawny irises. Akaashi felt his pulse hammer even faster.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rice cooker chimed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both ignored it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Does this hurt?” he asked, gently probing the silky skin hidden under the fabric.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>No</em>,” Tsukishima sighed out, then clenched his fingers on the chair’s edge again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi noticed the movement and paused. Tsukishima had let his guard down, invited Akaashi closer, but every so often rigidity would flash through him like just now. It stoppered his throat, controlled his reactions.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>So much tension</em>, Akaashi thought fondly, and placed Tsukishima’s foot to the side, rising up to his knees between Tsukishima’s legs and coaxing one tightened hand off the chair. Tsukishima didn’t protest, allowing Akaashi to lift his arm up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His fingers really were lovely, Akaashi thought, slotting their hands together. Slender but strong, calloused, with faint scars from blocking relentless spikes. Akaashi brought Tsukishima’s hand closer and turned it palm down, tracing a line from wrist to fingertip: one, two, three, four, five. And then he bent his head and brushed his lips over Tsukishima’s knuckles, gently, barely a graze. In contrast to his leg, the skin here was cool to touch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima’s hand jerked almost imperceptibly. “Akaashi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi looked up obligingly—judging by Tsukishima’s alarmed expression, he hadn’t meant to say anything at all. His blood hummed with pleasure as he raked his eyes over the younger man, whose face had lost almost all its initial composure. Tsukishima had been biting his lips—they were reddened and shiny, parted slightly with his uneven breaths. They were beautiful.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was beautiful.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi was suddenly struck by how charged the air around them had become. Heady, indomitable, taking his breath away. It filled his lungs with a dark, heavy weight, as if he was being pinned to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was formidable. It was fathomless. It spoke of no second chances.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lowered Tsukishima’s slightly clammy palm, his heart suddenly in his throat. The hesitation in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. He was back at that precipice again, except this time there was no bottom in sight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Akaashi,” Tsukishima whispered again through those red, bite-swollen lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>If you </em>are<em> scared, it’s okay</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi reached upward, took his fear in both hands, and kissed Tsukishima Kei.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first thing Akaashi noticed was the feel of Tsukishima’s lips against his: firm, warm, and then yielding all at once, accepting the gentle kiss; the unspoken confession.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second was the shifting pressure of Tsukishima’s mouth as he kissed Akaashi back, sending little electric sparks travelling from Akaashi’s lips all the way down to the pit of his stomach. <em>Oh. Oh.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a dizzying sensation. Akaashi felt his free hand, which was cupping the back of Tsukishima’s neck, tremble. The soft brush of hair there twined through his fingertips. A faint vanilla scent filled his nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After what seemed like both an eternity and an instant he pulled back, trying to catch his breath. Slowly, Tsukishima opened his eyes and blinked at him once, twice. Dazed, much like how Akaashi felt. His hand had curled around Akaashi’s own. He hadn’t let go.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Neither of them spoke. Akaashi let his eyes linger, taking in the planes of Tsukishima’s face. Perhaps he was also subconsciously searching for signs of regret, but there were none. There was only Tsukishima gazing back at him, wonder wrought in his rounded eyes and in the beautiful “o”-shaped droop of his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was strange that a kiss could feel more intimate than how he’d been touching him before. Akaashi licked his lips, distantly aware he was running the pad of his thumb over Tsukishima’s hand. He could be content looking at him forever.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima inhaled; began to say something.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A loud clattering burst from the kitchen, making them both jump. They looked at each other with equal uncertainty, hands still locked together, as the noise grew louder and more insistent. Akaashi cast a quick glance over his shoulder and back at Tsukishima.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your kitchen is screaming,” Tsukishima observed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi looked at him despairingly. “I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hurried out of the room, almost tripping over his own feet when he entered the kitchen—the pot was boiling over, water bubbling down the sides and to the ground, and the lid was teetering violently. “Shit,” he mumbled, lunging awkwardly over the mess on the ground and grabbing at the hot cover, tossing it into the sink with a deafening clang.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He spun the range knob down to the lowest setting and dumped a dishrag onto the floor, mopping up the splashes of water with his foot. The ingredients were well and truly cooked through—if he’d left it longer, who knew how mushy some of those vegetables could have become. Akaashi didn’t really care about mushy vegetables though. He gave them a baleful stare instead, annoyed that he’d only had the chance to kiss Tsukishima once. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He heard movement behind him. The person in question was leaning against the door frame, coolly surveying the scene, fingers threaded together. His clothes were still a little rumpled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you hungry?” Akaashi asked helplessly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” he said, amber eyes half-lidded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi felt another rush of heat suffuse his body from head to toe. He could only watch dumbly as Tsukishima came over, broke the curry roux cubes into the ladle, and used the chopsticks to dissolve it into the simmering broth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi folded his arms and rested back against the counter. “I was supposed to be cooking,” he said in empty protest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima looked sidelong at him, ears red and eyebrow raised. “You don’t want help?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A slow smile made its way onto his face. “Help is appreciated.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They finished up in silence, not awkward, but not completely comfortable either. They both seemed to be wordlessly dancing around the elephant in the room, unsure how to even begin talking about it. <em>I kissed him</em>, Akaashi thought, scooping rice onto two plates. <em>He kissed me back</em>, he thought, as Tsukishima ladled curry onto the rice and handed a plate back to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They went to the table and sat down, put their hands together and said, “Thank you for the meal.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi hardly tasted the food, even though it did smell quite delicious. He was too preoccupied wondering how to broach the issue. He resisted the urge to bounce his leg; the lack of conversation was making him restless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He took a spoonful of rice and curry, chewed it, swallowed. Put his spoon down and said, “Tsukishima. I think I like you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima choked on his curry.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Alarmed, Akaashi pushed the glass of water toward him. Tsukishima grabbed it, took a gulp, and coughed noisily. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good,” he wheezed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were pinched tight and watering. “Because I think I like you, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Happiness and relief surged through Akaashi upon hearing him say it. He felt he wanted to smile like a fool, in contrast to the cross and embarrassed furrow of Tsukishima’s brow. The latter’s face, however, was also very, very red, the colour likely rivalling Akaashi’s own. And then the silliness of the moment broke over Akaashi’s head like a wave and a laugh spilled out of his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Across the table, Tsukishima’s shoulders relaxed, although he still looked like he wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. Still, his petulance had softened, and faded more with each chuckle that escaped Akaashi’s mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m happy we’re on the same page,” Akaashi said, once his bout of amusement had eased. Happy was an understatement.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima shovelled food into his mouth, still obviously flustered. “This is good, by the way,” he mumbled around his mouthful. “Kind of sweet.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi felt his eyes crinkle, pleased. “I’m glad you like it.” He followed suit, scooping up more of the curry. Something else had been pressing on his mind, which he asked after he finished his spoonful. “Did you tell Hinata about Sunday?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Naka-Meguro? Why, did you want it to be a secret?” Tsukishima asked, a touch defensively. <em>Prickly</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi shook his head. “That’s not it at all. I was talking to Bokuto the other day and Hinata was there. It came up,” he finished embarrassedly, unwilling to confess how he’d muddled over Tsukishima’s impending visit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima’s hackles lowered. “I’d talked about it with Yamaguchi, he likely mentioned it to Hinata,” he grumbled, poking at a piece of potato. “I wasn’t sure why you wanted to hang out with <em>me</em> so much.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wasn’t sure either, at first,” Akaashi admitted. “But I found myself thinking, and, well. Just thinking a lot. About you.” <em>How I couldn’t stop looking at you</em>, he didn’t say. <em>How I liked hearing your voice. Seeing your smile. How it feels like everything and nothing has changed.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima sighed, hunching his shoulders slightly. A tall person's habit. “Not that it’s relevant, but I liked you in school,” he said in a rush.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi almost dropped his spoon. “Liked or <em>liked</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you think?” Tsukishima scowled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The silly grin was on Akaashi’s lips again. “I think it’s a little relevant.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was four years ago, and I thought I…” the blonde faltered, steepling his fingers together. “Well, whatever. Yamaguchi knew about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m glad you came back to Tokyo,” Akaashi said warmly, meaning every word.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their eyes met and darted away. “Same,” Tsukishima replied quietly. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—” he cleared his throat, his voice still rough from coughing and faintly incredulous. “When did you…start? Liking me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The question threw Akaashi. When indeed?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His brows knitted in thought as he sorted through the timeline in his mind, mulling it over. Like Bokuto had pointed out, he had talked fairly often about Tsukishima in school; thought about him more often than one would think about a friend. Yet, during that time he’d never considered how his feelings might be unusual, might be more than simple camaraderie—even though in hindsight, it was obviously a sign of <em>something</em>. Following the four-year gap of graduation, university, and job hunting, their contact had fizzled, leaving fleeting <em>what ifs</em> in its wake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then they had met again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe it started a while ago, but I only realised it recently,” he said reflectively. “I…don’t think I can say for certain.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see,” was all Tsukishima said, but he didn’t sound displeased.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But I <em>do</em> like you,” Akaashi reiterated.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know,” Tsukishima mumbled, staring down at his now-empty plate. A flicker of pessimism crossed his face. “But after this week I’ll be away for the rest of V.League,” he said eventually. “And after that, well, I live in Miyagi. It’s <em>far</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi had been worrying about that too; it was one of the many anxieties that had spiralled around in his head while laying his thoughts bare to Bokuto. “It is far.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know if I can…” Tsukishima swallowed, throat bobbing. “I don’t know if I can make any promises.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can only make one.” Akaashi felt the weight of what he was going to say. He took a deep breath. “I’ll wait for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Could you wait for me?</em> he wanted to ask, but knew that would be unfair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima bowed his head, triangle-ing his fingers together, but Akaashi caught the barest smile that had been startled onto his lips. “LINE exists,” he continued off-handedly. “Video calls. Weekends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima looked up; smiled crookedly. “Bullet trains.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That would be more efficient, since I don’t have a car.” Tokyo’s public transport was incredibly reliable, after all, and the highways sucked during rush hour.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me neither.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They looked at each other, feeling the unuttered agreement come into being. Akaashi’s limbs suddenly felt a bit weak. He hadn’t realised the extent to which <em>what comes after?</em> had been troubling him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima’s phone rang with an alarm. He silenced it, giving it a dirty look. “I have to go soon, or I’ll miss curfew,” he said resentfully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi’s spirits were immediately dampened. “How soon is soon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Twenty or so minutes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, okay.” He interlocked his fingers together, then straightened as he remembered what was waiting in the fridge. “Wait a second.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stood up briskly and collected their dirty dishes, taking them into the kitchen to stack in the sink. Opening the cupboard, he took out two clean plates and forks, and then fished the cakes out of the refrigerator.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima raised his head quizzically when he returned, understanding lighting his features when he saw what Akaashi was holding. Confusion returned once more when Akaashi set the desserts down, one plate clearly not tiramisu.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You bought this for me, but I bought this for you,” Akaashi explained, sliding the shortcake toward Tsukishima, whose mouth had opened in surprise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For me?” he echoed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your favourite wasn’t hard to guess,” Akaashi said honestly. Well, that was true—even if Hinata had explicitly stated Tsukishima’s partiality, it <em>hadn’t</em> been hard to guess.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, Akaashi-san,” Tsukishima said with feeling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Could you,” Akaashi began, then stopped, unsure if he should continue. The question sounded ridiculous. Nonsensical. He’d be laughed at.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima looked at him, head slightly tilted in puzzlement. He said nothing, only waited.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For that expectancy, Akaashi tried again. “Could you call me by my first name?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima flushed; licked his lips. Almost imperceptibly, his eyes had brightened.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, Keiji,” he repeated.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Oh</em>, but his name sounded completely different when shaped by Tsukishima’s mouth. Akaashi almost regretted asking the question because now his face felt like it was on fire—and Tsukishima had noticed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A smirk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Tsukishima said nothing else, simply starting on the strawberry shortcake. Tiny alarm bells went off in Akaashi’s head: Tsukishima had found a weapon and was clearly tucking it away in the folds of his memory. And Akaashi had no idea when he’d choose to pull it out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima polished off his dessert, Akaashi warily following suit. The tiramisu was rich and velvety on his tongue, clearly of much higher quality than the one from the family restaurant. He fought the urge to make an audible sound of satisfaction.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima laid his fork down on the empty plate with a clink and wiped his mouth. “Our second game for the League will be on Sunday afternoon. After Friday’s match, the curfew’s going to be relaxed.” Tsukishima pressed his thumbnail into a cuticle. “Um, so…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The affirmative was on Akaashi’s lips even before Tsukishima asked, but he waited politely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you want to do something then?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Akaashi said at once. “I’ll probably finish up at work around six.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. I’ll sort the details this time,” he said decisively. He really did look cute when he was setting his mind on something.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Personal tour of Skytree?” Akaashi couldn’t resist teasing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would rather climb a transmission tower,” Tsukishima snarked back. Akaashi snorted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were slow to clean up, taking time as much as they were able. Lingering glances, smiles curled in the corners of their mouths, fingers brushing as they sat at the cleared dining table, sharing a few pictures and videos from their phones. Trying not to look at the clock until they had to look at the clock, and then Tsukishima had to make his way to the door, tug on his shoes, and step outside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi followed him out into the cool night air, watching the lines of his back shift under his sweater. He inched closer, feeling a suggestion of that heady presence from before. “Thank you for coming,” he said, touching Tsukishima’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima jumped a little, fumbling with what he’d been about to say. “Thank you for…. Thanks for tonight,” he settled on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubbed the back of his neck, then turned swiftly, leaning down toward Akaashi. Their mouths pressed together for one perfect, heated moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He drew back. Akaashi could feel his breath puffing between their lips. “See you later,” Tsukishima murmured. “Keiji.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Ah</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Akaashi said, somewhat dreamily. “See you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would have combined this with chapter 7, but I wrote in my twitter post it was 9/9 chapters and I can't edit that, so....</p><p>thank you guys for your comments you have no idea how much they mean to me. I LOVE YOU ALL 💫</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">People often told Akaashi he was too serious. His superiors seemed to think he wasn’t serious enough.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What is this?” Nomura, his supervisor, demanded on Thursday morning, slapping down the submitted papers on the desk between them.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi tore his eyes away from the cluttered spreadsheet on his desktop, examining the packet. “It’s…the proposal you requested, sir.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“The layout is incorrect,” Nomura groused, stabbing his finger down. “We introduced the new process in last week’s meeting. <em>Remember</em>?” The thin hair wisping on the crown of his head shivered in his vexation.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi had to bite his tongue to stop a sharp, disrespectful retort. His proposal had already been half-finished at the time of that meeting, and Nomura had agreed to let Akaashi complete it using their old layout. What was more, the supervisor had assured him he’d check it on Tuesday and let him know if there were any mistakes.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Now it was deadline day, last-minute edits were piling up, and Udai-san was on the verge of creating a nest of his own yanked-out hair around his desk. Akaashi had already known he was going to go overtime—that’s how Thursdays went—but fixing the entire proposal packet was bound to push everything a few hours back, at minimum.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I apologise, sir,” he said woodenly, picking up the papers. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Nomura clicked his tongue reprovingly. “I would have expected you of all people to have a handle on it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry for the delay,” Akaashi said, bowing his head to appease the man. “I’ll have it ready by the end of the day.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“See that you do,” his supervisor told him, dismissing him with a jerked wave of his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi returned to his desk at the other end of the room, tossing the papers down and massaging his eyes under his glasses. Having being entrenched in extensive edits for all of Wednesday and the majority of today, he’d have to deliberately drag his focus back to the old topic, especially since he’d already pushed it from his mind once it had been submitted. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>Maybe I should have faxed it</em>, he thought sourly, sitting down. If it had popped up from the out-of-date machine Nomura would have fawned over it, instead of letting it be buried under whatever else had accumulated in his paper tray.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe you should have faxed it,” Udai-san hissed behind his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh. How far along are you, Udai-san?” Akaashi adjusted his glasses, squinting at the defunct proposal.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“On the last quarter, but these noses don’t look like noses anymore,” the mangaka muttered dubiously.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Find some references,” Akaashi said, taking his to-do list and penciling in the extra tasks at the top.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t hate his job, but sometimes it felt like he was stuck in a well that was slowly being bricked up, each stone being laid heavily on his shoulders and preventing him from crawling out. When the work piled up like this there’d be so much to do Akaashi would be almost dizzy with it, and a task list and a coffee was the only thing that could help clear his head.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">His task list, and something else. Before pulling up the proposal files on his computer, Akaashi furtively opened the LINE chat log between Tsukishima and himself, as he’d been doing whenever he wanted to pummel his laptop screen.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact: Tsukishima Kei</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; Take care today. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[12:06]</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The message had been sent during his lunch break. It did not demand a response, but Akaashi had sent back a single smiley face emoji anyway. Re-reading it now helped to slightly ease the tension accumulating in his chest. He took a deep breath and set the phone aside, turning to his work.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Even though he’d seen Tsukishima so recently—more than simply <em>seen</em>, in fact—Akaashi was missing him. Yesterday had been a steady build-up of work, so the only time they’d had to chat was through texts during Akaashi’s lunch break and commute home. He had also sent an innocent “How is your leg feeling?” to which Tsukishima had responded with a misspelled “it’s bettr, thanks”.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Bokuto had called again that evening, nudging for what happened on Tuesday. Akaashi had been prepared to tell him at least a few details, but as he sat at his couch with the sweetness of strawberry shortcake on his tongue, he found he was keeping the memory closely guarded. He wasn’t intending to snub his friend completely, though, so when Bokuto asked, “How did it go?”, he’d responded with “It went well.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Well? What does <em>well</em> mean?” Bokuto squawked.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>I kissed him. He likes me</em>. “As well as well could mean, which is well,” Akaashi said lightly, which left Bokuto blustering.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Dunno if that even counts as an answer, ‘Kaashi,” he grumbled, then huffed out a sigh. “You’re happy, though, aren’t you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">A wave of affection for his friend washed through Akaashi. As much as Bokuto was loud and brash and impulsive, he understood him well. Maybe one day he’d tell Bokuto about it properly.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” he’d said genuinely. “I’m happy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Happy, but tired—he’d only managed to stay awake long enough to exchange goodnight messages with Tsukishima, then he’d gone to sleep. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The mass of work had crashed over everyone’s heads at the office on Thursday—the place was bustling, mangakas and editors and supplementary artists all with their noses to the grindstone. A lot of them had their deadlines on Friday, but for others like Udai-san, it was Thursday afternoon.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi plodded now through the proposal revisions, feeling like one of Udai-san’s <em>Zom’bish</em> creations. The new layout was fiddly and as he was unused to it, he had to constantly refer to the overly complex example documents. It was a tedious process.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">An hour slipped by on the clock, forty more minutes ticked over. Akaashi finally pressed <em>print</em> on his computer, collected the stack from the machine, and delivered it wordlessly to Nomura’s desk. His supervisor just grunted at him in mingled acknowledgement and dismissal.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Finally, he could return to what he’d been doing. Akaashi felt a headache building as he turned to leave Nomura’s area.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>Take care today</em>, he could almost hear Tsukishima saying, voice admonishing but soft, and so he changed direction, heading to the break room to stir together two instant coffees. They never tasted spectacular, but—he breathed in deeply as he returned to his desk, mugs in hands—the smell was as soothing as ever. He set one cup at the edge of Udai-san’s desk, far enough away so if the man flailed he wouldn’t knock coffee all over his manuscripts.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Why do you look so pleased?” Udai-san said, taking a gulp and making a croaking gasp at the heat.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Proposal’s done,” he said tiredly, sipping from his own mug. “But don’t get distracted. Focus, Udai-san.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ouch,” Udai-san said into his drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It was 9 pm when Akaashi finally powered down his laptop and began to slowly pack his bag. He hadn’t checked in with Udai-san over the last half an hour, knowing what the man was going to be like.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He went to his side now, finding his prediction was correct. Before, Akaashi had felt like one of <em>Zom’bish</em>’s characters, but Udai-san actually looked like one: all haggard and deathlike. It was an Udai-san with whom Akaashi was intensely familiar.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“It’ll have to be tomorrow,” the mangaka said wanly. “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi had dealt with this many times before. “By ten,” he said wearily, knowing that the final pieces would be ready for him at eleven. Nomura would gripe at and guilt him, but he also was familiar with the pushing of deadlines, so Akaashi would let the scolding run over him like water off a duck’s back.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">There were only a few people scattered throughout the office when he left, offering nods of acknowledgement when he politely bid them goodnight.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He yawned widely as he walked down to the station, feeling his jaw crack. It was very late—he wondered if Tsukishima was awake, or trying to get an early night to prepare for Friday’s game. Against his better judgement, he unlocked his phone and sent the message anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact: Tsukishima Kei</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; Finished work. Thank God. <b>~Akaashi </b>[21:07]</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">If Tsukishima was asleep, that was that, although the thought made Akaashi feel a little lonely. He walked through the ticket gates, scanning his train pass. The electronic schedule above the stairs showed his train was coming in a minute, so he picked up the pace, hastening down the steps just as it pulled up by the platform with a harsh squeal.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> There was no room to sit on the train—overtime was not a foreign concept to Tokyo office workers. Akaashi found a place where he could lean against the seat divider next to the carriage door, resisting the urge to lean his head against the metal pole and doze. (Drifting into a half-sleep while standing up was also not a foreign concept to Tokyo office workers.)</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">His phone lit up in his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; It’s very late. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[21:10]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; I’m sorry. Were you sleeping? <b>~Akaashi </b>[21:11]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; Not yet. I meant, that finish time is late. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[21:11]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; That’s just how it is sometimes. <b>~Akaashi </b>[21:12]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; Have you eaten? <b>~Tsukishima </b>[21:14]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; Not yet <b>~Akaashi </b>[21:14]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; Take care of yourself. Eat some proper food, not instant ramen or anything. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[21:15]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; Proper food? You’re one to talk, lol. <b>~Akaashi </b>[21:16]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; Just because I don’t eat a lot, doesn’t mean I don’t eat healthy food <b>~Tsukishima </b>[21:18]</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">How aggravatingly reasonable, Akaashi thought affectionately, texting back there was still curry in his fridge. He was relieved there was, otherwise he’d be stuck with the apparently forbidden instant ramen or one of the meagre leftover bentos from the convenience store.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">However, even eating a full meal at the end of a long day had never done much to ease his mind from bouncing around the walls of his skull. Whenever he worked overtime, his brain would remain wired for hours even if most of his jobs had been completed. It was annoyingly contradictory.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; Have you ever been exhausted but know you’ll be unable to sleep? <b>~Akaashi </b>[21:22]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; Sometimes, yeah. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[21:24]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; Let me know when you get to your station. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[21:27]</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>Why would he want to know that</em>, Akaashi pondered, his eyes half-closed. It wasn’t like he could magic himself up to meet Akaashi there. Although that would be very nice. He typed an “okay” anyway, because to disregard the odd request would be bad manners.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The rest of the commute was spent with his earphones in, staring out the window and not really listening to whatever music was on his playlist. After an endless stretch of time, the train pulled up at his station and he shambled out. If <em>Zom’bish</em> had ever had the chance of receiving a live action, he’d be cast in a starring role.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; Just arrived. <b>~Akaashi</b> [21:52]</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He walked home almost robotically, one foot in front of the other. The neighbourhood was winding down for the night; the only sounds were the distant beep of cars from the main road and the occasional yowling of cats. Due to his stupor, when he reached the apartment block he wasn’t sure if he’d been slower getting there than usual.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He trudged up the stairs, rounded the corner to his hallway, and squinted in confusion. There was an odd shape lying outside his door.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">As Akaashi went down the corridor, it became apparent that it was a small package that was on the ground. He reached his home and stopped, looking down at the package, which was actually a paper bag with the UberEats logo on the side.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>I didn’t order anything</em>, he thought, mystified, picking it up.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The bag felt a bit warm to touch and the weight distribution wasn’t even, indicating it contained a drink, not food. There was a small receipt stapled to the side, which he scanned, hoping the correct apartment number had been written on it and he could give it to its proper owner.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">There <em>was</em> an apartment number written on it: it was his own apartment number, and a name he was very familiar with.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>Card owner: Tsukishima Kei</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Instructions for deliverer: Leave outside door.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi opened the bag. The dark, rich aroma of coffee wafted out. “Seriously?” he mumbled, suddenly feeling the urge to close his eyes and sag against the wall.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">If his neighbours saw him doing that, though, they’d think he was being some sort of messy drunk. Digging into his bag, Akaashi retrieved his keys and went inside, letting the door bang shut behind him.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">His belongings dumped on the table, he was free to open the bag properly and lift the coffee out. There was a little symbol written on the cup, marking it as decaffeinated. “What the hell,” Akaashi said, bracing himself on the back of a chair.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">It was just a coffee, just a plain and simple drink, and completely did not warrant the reaction he was having. He felt both warm and shocked and stupidly grateful, a confusing swirl of emotions that he <em>wanted</em> to attribute to fatigue. <em>I can’t believe him</em>, he thought in bewilderment. <em>Why would he bother?</em></span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He pored over his phone screen, his sluggish brain unsure how to express his gratitude. His fingers went ahead and typed, “???”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Oops, that was kind of rude. He quickly added a “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; It’s decaf. <b>~Tsukishima </b>[22:03]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; Thanks, really. <b>~Akaashi </b>[22:03]</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; You said the smell was relaxing, so yeah <b>~Tsukishima </b>[22:04]</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He might’ve said that at one point. Akaashi lifted up the takeaway cup, smelling the fragrant steam as it rose. It had already cooled somewhat, but as Akaashi leaned there, drinking it, he thought it tasted absolutely perfect.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">His limbs loose and languorous, he forced himself to go to the kitchen to heat up some food. He had a niggling feeling that if he didn’t eat, somehow Tsukishima would know and nag him. <em>How the tables have turned</em>, he thought dryly, taking the curry out of the microwave once it beeped.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He turned on the TV to fill the silence as he ate, checking the time as he sat down. 10:15 pm.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">&lt; &lt; I hope you’re going to sleep now. It’s late. <b>~Akaashi </b>[22:15]</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima had to be rested for his game, and Akaashi wasn’t going to be the one keeping him up. He played with his phone as he waited to see if there’d be a response, scrolling absently through the Japan Volleyball Association’s Instagram page. As it was mid-season, they were constantly posting photos and clips of the different teams.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">A little notification popped up at the top of his screen—a new message. It wasn’t a text, but a little play button image. A voice clip. Akaashi hesitated, then clicked it.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Get some rest, Keiji</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi bent his neck, pressing the phone against his forehead and biting back a smile. He could almost imagine Tsukishima standing beside him, about to touch a hand to his shoulder. The sensation was hovering there, like a shadow of a dream that would slip away the moment you tried to recall it.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>Kei, Keiji</em>. One would think their names would sound quite similar, but when spoken they were entirely different. He replayed the clip, openly savouring how Tsukishima said his name—stretching out the vowels and ending in a clipped, distinct <em>ji</em>—and wondered if that made him narcissistic.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He pressed the little microphone symbol, held the phone close to his mouth and said softly, “Good luck tomorrow, Kei.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>cute shit in ch8. please look forward</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>there will be a delay on ch9! I have to rewrite a massive chunk of it...aiming to upload Fri or Sat :p</p><p>THANK YOU TO ALICE &amp; SABS for this chapter!! they helped inspire me so much!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Udai-san flung down his manuscript by Akaashi’s elbow at exactly 10:45 on Friday morning, the fire of victory in his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here, as promised!” he proclaimed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Consider my expectations met,” Akaashi said, flicking through the stack.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Udai-san poked his tongue out childishly. “<em>Exceeded</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At 11:20 and 11:21 respectively, Kuroo and Bokuto hit the group chat with a barrage of good luck messages, to which Akaashi also added. Tsukishima thanked them all promptly, but Akaashi’s message was the only one he directly replied to. It made Akaashi feel rather smug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He finished the edits without delay, his restful sleep having given him the energy to attack his workload, as the minutes ticked over to 11:58. He went down to the conbini with Udai-san to buy lunch, strode back ten steps ahead of him, and settled at his desk to surreptitiously watch the start of Tsukishima’s game.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first set had just begun when he opened the livestream link at 12:07. Having finished their warmups, the teams were in position, with the Hornets serving first. Akaashi bit into his sandwich, riveted as the rally kicked off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ooh?” Udai-san was looking over his shoulder, stuffing an onigiri into his mouth. “Which teams are those?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sendai Frogs and Setagaya Hornets,” Akaashi said distractedly, watching Tsukishima one-touch an attempted spike.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can’t say I know them.” Udai-san dragged his chair closer. “Nice uniforms.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They watched in focused silence, Akaashi clenching his fist a little in victory whenever the Frogs scored a point. Udai-san seemed to pick up on what team Akaashi was supporting and reacted appropriately, mock-booing the Hornets whenever they snuck a point in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi wondered if Udai-san knew who Tsukishima was, having gone to Karasuno around the same time as Tsukishima Akiteru, after all. Udai-san didn’t say much though, apart from making “oohs” of awe when the Frogs' middle blocker coordinated read blocks that killed plays from cross-court shots to slide attacks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as Tsukishima had said, that tall setter wasn’t on the court. Akaashi thought he glimpsed him on the sidelines, but Tsukishima kept commanding his attention instead, so fifteen minutes in Akaashi just gave up and let his eyes look where they wanted. He felt a rush of pride at one point when Tsukishima used the promised time lag attack.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Frogs won the first set, 27:25. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The teams switched sides and began the next round. Udai-san left to go to the bathroom. Akaashi pretended to be looking at a spreadsheet when Nomura walked past, even though it was still technically lunch break.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Hornets won the second set, 25:21.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now that the third set was beginning, the explosive pace had slowed down a little. It was no less intense, though (to think these were only Division 2 players!). Once lunch break had finished, Akaashi had intended to switch off the game and only check up on scores, but the fervent energy of both teams had gripped him; he turned down his phone’s brightness, tucking it underneath a file so nobody could notice the video if they walked behind him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was Tsukishima’s turn to serve. He took aim, tossed the ball up—and served it wide. Akaashi clicked his tongue in amusement and sympathy. <em>Home run</em>, they would have called that in school. The camera flashed onto Tsukishima’s displeased look, but once his team’s captain patted him on the back, that annoyance ebbed away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reminding himself he was at the office, Akaashi reluctantly returned to his work, checking on the scores periodically. The numbers were constantly see-sawing, but when he looked after finishing up a lengthy phone call, he found the third set had been taken by the Frogs, at 26:24.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi had a good feeling once the fourth set started. It seemed like the Frogs’ most ferocious player, the one with the strange hair named Kyoutani, had hit his stride. He was barrelling about the court like a cannon, sometimes even knocking into his own teammates, but cross-spiking with a single-minded finesse that could rival Bokuto (except Bokuto had grown into his consistency—Kyoutani was still rough around the edges).</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were nearing match point. The Hornets were putting up a fight, but they were slowly losing ground.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">27:26 in the Frogs’ favour.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The captain sent over a wicked jump serve, but the Hornets managed to cover their ground, returning it as a chance ball. The Frogs’ setter received it and interest flashed through Akaashi—who would set it now? Did that man plan to attack instead?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ball arced up lazily, then dropped. The cluster of players was tight—Akaashi couldn’t make out where it would go. A pair of long arms reached out, fingers grasping, finding purchase.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi’s eyes widened as he watched Tsukishima—<em>Tsukishima</em>—set the ball.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kyoutani decimated it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">28:26.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Contact: Tsukishima Kei</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; Can you meet me at Shinagawa Station after work? <b>~Tsukishima </b>[15:01]</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Smartly dressed and leaning against the wall of the station’s west exit, Tsukishima didn’t seem like someone who’d just had a gruelling four-set volleyball game. He looked languid and at ease, one foot propped behind him and a hand folded behind his back, the other scrolling through his phone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi felt his pulse pick up as he approached him, Tsukishima raising his head when the shorter man’s shadow fell across his feet. “Hey, congratulations on the win,” Akaashi said as a greeting. “You all played really well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A pleased look flickered across his features as he tucked his phone away, straightening. “You saw the game?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was able to watch here and there. You pulled off those time lag attacks super smoothly and that final set was really something; when did you become a setter?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Judging by the faint blush dusting Tsukishima’s cheeks, he’d picked up on the admiration in Akaashi’s voice. “We all have to practice setting,” he deflected, but Akaashi wasn’t deterred.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was amazing,” he said firmly, unwilling to let any more self-deprecation slide by.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I— thanks.” Tsukishima still looked fairly nonplussed at the praise, his fingers threaded together before him. “Let’s get going?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They left the station, winding through pedestrians and cyclists on the pathway. “Where are we headed?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you’ll see,” Tsukishima said, flapping his hand. Akaashi’s interest was immediately piqued. “You came a bit sooner than I was expecting. Was work better today?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi had indeed clocked out at precisely 5:45 pm. Following the game, the rest of the day had been productive and Nomura hadn’t berated him once. Maybe the Frogs’ win had equal power to an <em>omamori</em> charm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was an improvement. Thank you for the coffee yesterday; it helped a lot,” he said, faintly ashamed at how wound up he’d been.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Least I could do.” Tsukishima glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Akaashi felt emboldened.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look good,” he said bluntly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima flushed dark red.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Now you look even better</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They discussed the game as they walked, Akaashi finding out that he’d missed seeing a Hornets player serve into their own team member’s head, that both liberos had received at least one ball with their faces, and that the Hornets had been forced to treat the Frogs to a generous lunch afterwards thanks to a bet the teams had made. In the middle of complaining how his captain had forced him to eat seconds, Tsukishima came to a stop outside a domed grey building with tiled walls, the lettering over sliding glass doors spelling <em>Shinagawa Aquarium</em>. “We’re here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh?” Akaashi had heard of Shinagawa Aquarium, but had never been there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It had good reviews online; I thought it looked interesting.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Trying to play it cool?” Akaashi nudged him, laughing internally when Tsukishima jumped. “I haven’t been to an aquarium since grade school. The displays have probably improved since then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a quick dinner at the cafe outside—mainly for Akaashi’s sake—they walked into the lobby and lined up at the front desk. Tsukishima waved off Akaashi as he tried to open his wallet and passed over a few thousand yen for their admission. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The lobby had been bright, but as soon as they passed the entrance into the aquarium, the lightning grew almost inky. Akaashi knocked his arm against Tsukishima’s several times by accident as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, each time murmuring apologies he didn’t really mean.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first displays were natural waterscapes of aquatic plants and freshwater fish, lit with LED lights designed to make the scene look like a moving picture. The room then opened up into a long coral reef corridor, at the end of which was a tide pool area, where the visitors milling around were invited to touch starfish, sea cucumbers, and in a separate sandy pool, stingrays.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi flinched as he touched the water, not expecting its icy coldness, and Tsukishima laughed at him; in retaliation Akaashi flicked the water off his hands and onto his provoker. The laugh quickly turned into a yelp.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll feed you to those stingrays,” Tsukishima threatened, wiping water off his glasses.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That might be difficult; they’re rather small.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the tide pools they came to an arch halfway down the corridor, which was marked as the entrance to “Ocean’s Past”. Tsukishima’s face lit up with fascination the moment they went inside, an eager look which brought no small amount of heat to Akaashi’s cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ocean’s Past was only a small room and it was devoid of aquariums, but there were several pedestals holding fossils encased in glass, larger ones roped off and displayed against the walls, and hanging photos of deep sea creatures. In the centre of the room were several skeletal models of prehistoric fish, some obviously scaled down but each accompanied by a detailed plaque of information.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima was poring over some of the enclosed fossils, seemingly seconds away from pressing his nose to the glass. “I didn’t know an aquarium would have fossils like these,” he murmured to Akaashi. “I think some of them even predate <em>dinosaurs</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How can you tell?” If Akaashi was honest, they mostly looked like rocks with delicate shell-shaped swirls.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The info card has their names.” Tsukishima pointed at what Akaashi was sure was an unpronounceable string of words. “And look at the markings here. These types actually show how species were transitioning from sea to land—it displays a crucial time for the evolution of life on Earth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His tone had become smooth and businesslike, and Akaashi had an inkling of what Tsukishima was like as a museum employee. He was keeping his voice low, though, to account for the hushed atmosphere of the aquarium, and it resulted in a cadence that sunk into Akaashi’s bones.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi shifted uncomfortably, aware his blood was slowly descending south.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel like messing with a few someones,” Tsukishima announced after they left (after spending thirty minutes studying the fossils, with him animatedly murmuring factoids into Akaashi’s ear the entire time. Akaashi had had to take off his coat and fold it in his arms). “Could we take a quick picture?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like a selfie?” Akaashi had a hunch of what Tsukishima was after and joined him, leaning against his warmth. In a flash of daring, he tilted his lips in a small smirk, lifting a finger to touch Tsukishima’s chin as the photo was taken.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima tapped away on the screen and Akaashi felt his own phone buzz—he’d sent the image to the group chat with Bokuto and Kuroo. His smirk widened by a millimetre. “Oh my God, Tsukishima. They’re going to go crazy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blonde grinned devilishly, his cheeks a bit pink. It emptied the breath from Akaashi’s lungs. “Now we mute them for the rest of the night. Or a decade.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They had now come to the point of the aquarium where different zones merged, branched-apart tanks coming together at the far end of the room, opening up a vast viewing space before it. Couches were arranged there, some of which were already occupied by couples and a few families gazing up at the teeming marine life. The only illumination came from light filtering through the water, shifting across their skin like a ghostly webbing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Huge panels of glass made up a ceiling-high wall that divided land from water. Colourful schools of fish darted through the glimmering blue, swirling in patterns reminiscent of whirlpools. Above them glided several manta rays, swooping as elegantly as birds in the air and below them, glittering sea creatures wove through the long, waving sea grass on the sandy aquarium bed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rather than sitting, Tsukishima and Akaashi stepped closer to the glass, its coolness emanating across Akaashi’s skin. Despite the distracting murmur of voices behind him, the deep, undulating blue was mesmerising.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the peripheries of his vision, Akaashi noticed something moving. He turned and gaped slightly as a large brown shark came into view, its jagged teeth and vicious appearance evoking a few muffled gasps from other aquarium-goers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whoa,” he said. “That thing looks terrifying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A sand tiger shark. They’re actually quite docile, would you believe,” Tsukishima said beside him, voice low. “Towards humans, at least. The sort that won’t attack you unless you threaten them first.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel very safe now.” Akaashi stared at the jumble of razor-like teeth protruding from the shark’s mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sand tiger sharks have a low population anyway, even though they can live longer than fifteen years. You probably wouldn’t see one in the wild.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t go to the beach that often anyway.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The shark glided by before them, its flat, cold eyes staring balefully ahead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re a protected species because there’s so little of them. It probably doesn’t help that they eat their siblings in utero,” Tsukishima added, somewhat unnecessarily. Akaashi boggled at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t you study paleontology? Work in a natural history museum?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima looked down at him. “I do, but animals are interesting. One of my classes involved shark families. I did side research.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The diffused aquarium light illuminated the side of his face, lengthening the shadows of his lashes against his cheekbone. Akaashi wanted to press a kiss there, just below his eye.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have a good memory,” he said, rather hoarsely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something must have shown on his face, because Tsukishima suddenly looked nervous.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two children began arguing behind them, reminding Akaashi they weren’t alone. He cleared his throat and took Tsukishima’s wrist. “Let’s go to the next exhibit?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tugged him further down the fish tank-lined hall, still scattered about with people. Once they reached the enormous glass wall of the next enclosure, however, he faltered, eyes wide, and let go of Tsukishima nearly without realising it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The jellyfish enclosure stretched from one wall to the other, from their toes to above their heads, the round, billowing creatures inside almost seeming to pulse with their own luminosity. Akaashi advanced with slow, captivated steps, feeling like something in him had been plucked and was drifting away. He hardly noticed they were alone in the exhibit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The jellyfish slowly moved with the currents of the tank, lace-like tendrils rippling as they drifted. They looked like floating moonlight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A wave of calm and a deep, inexplicable wistfulness washed over him. He raised a hand, bathed in the water’s blue glow, and pressed it to the glass. He felt like he was being enveloped in that moonlight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stayed like that for a while, suspended amidst the glimmering white and blue, until he sensed Tsukishima’s presence beside him. He wasn’t sure how long the other had been standing there, but his warmth threaded Akaashi back to the ground.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you know,” Akaashi began nonsensically, watching the jellyfishes’ sedate movements, “I wanted to be a literary editor. But, I also wanted to write. This is the kind of thing I want to write about.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All of those inexplicable feelings. Longing that coiled deep in the chest. Awe that heated veins and became the drumming of a heartbeat. Small revelations that happened, over and over, upon looking at the utterly familiar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima shifted; Akaashi turned his head to him. Golden eyes were shadowed and unreadable. Tsukishima looked at Akaashi, then at the jellyfish, then back at him again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Akaashi-san, can I kiss you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A thrill ran through his spine, curling into his toes. How just words could make him feel like he was falling and flying at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” he said, already rising to his toes, tugging Tsukishima closer by the collar. Perhaps he was a bit too forceful—their glasses clacked together as their lips touched, making Akaashi flinch on reflex, and then laugh lightly against Tsukishima’s mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, you can kiss me,” he said there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then why did you kiss me first?” Tsukishima demanded softly. “I asked— I was going to— ugh,” he finished, looking extremely put out, then kissed Akaashi anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima kissed very carefully, as if he were afraid with one wrong move everything would fall apart in front of him. The result were several lighter, dry kisses, each applied with enough tender pressure to make Akaashi dizzy and wanting. It had him leaning upward, hands fisted in Tsukishima’s clothes and parting his lips with his own. <em>It’s okay if you’re scared. So am I</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima made a small surprised sound, his hand coming up to cup Akaashi’s jaw. In an instinctive response to that touch, Akaashi tightened his hold around the blonde’s waist and pulled him even closer. Their tongues brushed against each other, hot and wet, shocking a muffled whine from deep in his throat. He was mortified at his reaction, but from the way Tsukishima shuddered, he definitely didn’t seem to mind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They broke apart for air, Akaashi dragging a hand across his spit-wet, sensitive lips. Tsukishima was again staring at him with those rounded, dazed eyes. If that was the expression he’d always have when they kissed, Akaashi never wanted to stop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leaned up again, feeling his cheek brush against Tsukishima’s. “I’ve been thinking about this for the past two hours,” he whispered harshly into Tsukishima’s ear. “You and your dumb fossils.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, fossils aren’t dumb,” Tsukishima said unevenly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re right, sorry. You’re very cute when you talk about them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shut up Tsukishima’s retort by swallowing it from his mouth, enjoying the way he struggled without really trying before responding enthusiastically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A hum of voices cut through the bubble they were encased in; reminding Akaashi they weren’t alone. Breathing heavily, they drew apart and tucked themselves into the room’s corner as a small group trooped into the room and began cooing over the jellyfish.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Standing in the shadows, Akaashi and Tsukishima seemed to go unnoticed. Akaashi took the opportunity to appreciate how the soft pale lighting of the jellyfish enclosure caught on Tsukishima’s hair like a halo, curved around his cheekbone like a caress. Akaashi traced that path with his hand, running his fingers gently down to the taller man’s jaw. “Hey, Tsukishima.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…Hm?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi’s tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. “You said you had no curfew, so did you want to come back to mine?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><hr/><p class="p1"><br/>                                                  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>absolutely gorgeous fanart by <a href="https://twitter.com/matchachamomile/status/1305340416875585536">matcha</a> oh my GOSH this basically made me cry</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I said I would upload this on Friday I LIED LOL I managed to do all my rewrites yesterday! Now my twitter post is also a lie, because the fic is now 29k instead of 27k.</p><p>Gigantic thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/diwaachan">diwa</a> for being such an incredible beta reader, she single-handedly saved me from rushing a subpar ending.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi didn’t bother to switch on any lights apart from the overhead lamp in his hallway. He led Tsukishima down to his room in the half-darkness, trying to ignore how sweaty his palms had become.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Do you want to come back to mine</em>, he’d asked, with no real clear idea of what he was going to do.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was nonsensical how his worry see-sawed so erratically—after Tsukishima’s clear reciprocation, Akaashi felt it was irrational his confidence kept wavering. Surely any other person would have no reservations at this point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yet, it was unthinkable that he’d go back on everything he’d said and done up to now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He felt Tsukishima a few steps behind him, could imagine him looking down, down on Akaashi in that assessing way he had. The back of his neck prickled as he stepped into his room and tracked his way to the closet, hearing Tsukishima’s footsteps halt at the doorway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked over his shoulder. Tsukishima had his fingers clasped before him in a gesture Akaashi had come to recognise as a tell of nerves and this, strangely enough, calmed him down. He felt himself smile and inclined his head toward the bed in an obvious motion—<em>go ahead and sit</em>, it said. Turning to hang up his coat—he wasn’t a slob, after all—he heard the bed creak slightly under Tsukishima’s weight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rolling the sleeves of his work sweater up his forearms, Akaashi went and sat there too with his leg tucked under him, not quite sure how to proceed. Tsukishima was half cast in shadow, his fingers still linked, too-long legs propped just the slightest bit awkwardly. The light that filtered in from the hallway lay in a strip between them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um,” Tsukishima said, leaning forward, just as Akaashi said “So,” and reached out, and their lips met halfway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pale aquarium glow had transformed to a darkness barely lit with yellow, but Tsukishima felt the same in here as he had standing by the moonlit jellyfish. His hand was large and hot on the side of Akaashi’s neck, tilting Akaashi’s head so their mouths fit together, lips moving against each other greedily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi slid his hand further up Tsukishima’s leg as he leaned in, digging his fingers in reflexively when Tsukishima’s teeth scraped on his bottom lip. Tsukishima’s thigh tensed under his hand, toned muscles fitting to the curve of his palm. It was a little like a sledgehammer to the chest, but it just wasn’t <em>quite enough—</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi tore away from the kiss a bit wildly. “Hey, lie down,” he panted, pushing at Tsukishima’s chest. The blonde fell back onto his forearms with a quiet “oof”, clearly startled and glasses lopsided.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi slid off the bed and knelt between Tsukishima’s legs, placing his hands just above each knee. He had been rather annoyed that Tsukishima had chosen to wear trousers today, even if they were very nice trousers that hugged the curves of his flesh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I never got to see these properly,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Tsukishima. He ran a hand further up a clothed thigh, appreciating how the fabric clung, but wanting to see the bare skin underneath a whole lot more. He wanted to touch so much <em>more</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Above him, Tsukishima huffed out a disbelieving laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it okay if…” Akaashi bit his tongue, suddenly aware of how indelicate the question seemed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want me to take off my pants, Akaashi-san?” Tsukishima was slouched back on his arms, gaze cutting. He somehow managed to look both flustered and imperious at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh. Alright.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you wouldn’t mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima hooked his thumbs around his waistband and lifted his hips slightly, face red as he pushed the clothes down, revealing his briefs. Akaashi tugged his trousers the rest of the way off, over his knees and then his ankles. The pants were then tossed into the corner. Okay, so maybe Akaashi was a bit of a slob.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sight before him stole the air from his lungs and words from his brain. The full length of Tsukishima’s legs were on display, arching elegant and long, the tops of them brushed by the folds of his shirt. Akaashi immediately had his hands on him. “You played so well today,” he said, sliding his palms from the bottom to the top of Tsukishima’s calves, coming to rest on either side of those wonderfully toned thighs. He felt no muscle knots. “I was very impressed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He flicked a glance up through his lashes and saw Tsukishima riveted on him, lips wet and parted. That visual alone was enough to make his blood rush completely south—the tight uncomfortable heat in his pants was a clear indicator he was past being half-hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He took off his glasses, reached over to place them onto the bedside table, and in a swift movement hooked Tsukishima’s left leg over his shoulder, unbalancing the blonde onto his back. The crook of his knee hugged Akaashi’s neck and Akaashi let his eyes flutter half-closed, turning his head and pressing a kiss to Tsukishima’s inner thigh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A choked-off moan from the bed. The music of it travelled straight to Akaashi’s cock, and he hummed victoriously into the next kiss, parting his lips to drag his teeth and tongue against the sensitive skin there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima outright jolted, his hands flying downward and then freezing halfway. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can touch yourself,” Akaashi said roughly, barely recognising his own voice. He paused his administrations, waiting to see what Tsukishima would do.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima hesitated, then his hand dipped below the band of his briefs. Akaashi lowered his head once more, but kept an eye on how Tsukishima was palming himself, imagining those hands running over <em>him</em> instead. A groan rumbled in his chest at the thought; he restrained the sound by sucking on a patch of skin and laving it with his tongue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had one hand keeping Tsukishima’s leg in place on his shoulder; his other was roaming over the right leg still extended along the floor, stroking along the sensitive skin there, scraping his nails nearer, nearer to the junction between thigh and pelvis. He could feel Tsukishima trembling, reacting to each moment of contact, no matter how slight it was. His hand was moving more fervently between his legs, up, down, up. It was a hypnotic rhythm to watch—no, to feel, because Akaashi could <em>feel</em> how Tsukishima was slowly helping tilt himself over the edge. It was pushing <em>him</em> there, too, inch by inch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi switched his attentions, lowering Tsukishima’s left leg to the floor and lifting the right, setting to work on all that unkissed skin. Ah, it was so deliciously soft under his lips, his tongue, as if it was giving itself up to be marked. His left hand moved lovingly over flesh that was now bruised and tender, stroking oh so lightly up to where he could feel the heat of Tsukishima’s arousal against his fingers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Akaashi-sa<em>— Akaashi</em>,” Tsukishima gasped out faintly, messily, his hips canting upward. “<em>Akaashi—</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi rose further, further up on his knees, so <em>close</em>—he felt Tsukishima’s knuckles, still within his underwear, lightly brush against the side of his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Keiji, fuck, Keiji</em>—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So noisy, Kei,” he murmured affectionately, then bit down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sound that escaped Tsukishima’s throat was positively obscene. A deliciously long shudder rolled through his body and Akaashi smelled something sharp in the air; all at once, he realised Tsukishima had come.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fuck</em>, he thought, might have even said, but could hardly perceive anything save for Tsukishima’s shaking limbs and unsteady, panting gasps as he caught his breath. He was a thoroughly dishevelled, completely beautiful mess, one that <em>Akaashi</em> had created.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gently lowered Tsukishima’s leg to the floor and peeled off his work sweater, not that it did much to cool him down. As he rose to sit on the bed, Tsukishima pushed himself up with an arm that tremored. Akaashi looked down at him, feeling himself heavy and painfully hard under his clothes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You came just from that</em>, he thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You like being bitten?</em> was the second thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That wasn’t fair,” Tsukishima said raggedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My team’s probably going to see,” he continued, taking off his glasses and pushing them over next to Akaashi’s. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ah. The marks Akaashi had made on his thighs. He wished it wasn’t so dark in the room—they were probably a lovely red colour. “You didn’t seem to mind,” Akaashi said, regarding him through his lashes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima’s eyes flicked down to Akaashi’s crotch; without warning he twisted and advanced on him, one knee on the bed and both arms by Akaashi’s sides.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It wasn’t fair,” he repeated lowly, and pressed his hand down between Akaashi’s legs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Blood roared through Akaashi’s ears. He was barely aware he’d cried out and fallen onto his back until Tsukishima hovered over him, golden eyes piercing right through his lust-filled haze.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“D’you think,” Tsukishima cleared his throat, his voice husky, “Do you think you could apologise for it, Akaashi<em>-san</em>?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With the weight of Tsukishima’s hand on him, Akaashi could barely think. Every minuscule movement made his train of thought shatter and spiral back down to that point of contact.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m… I…” he breathed. Tsukishima narrowed his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was something about Tsukishima that Akaashi knew for certain: he liked to <em>act</em> as if he didn’t care. From the moment Akaashi had met him he’d given off the air of someone with better things to do, and when it came to competition and challenges he’d brush it off with self-deprecation and offhanded excuses. However Akaashi knew—he could <em>feel</em>—that under Tsukishima’s apathetic veneer was a burning desire to come out on top.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And every once in a while, it emerged.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi smirked up at Tsukishima, enjoying how his eyes widened, startled. “I <em>could</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grabbed Tsukishima’s collar and pulled him closer, tilting his head to kiss him <em>hard</em>. For a brief, wonderful moment all Akaashi felt was the exquisitely hot press of Tsukishima’s mouth against his, and then he released his hold, still close enough to feel Tsukishima’s breaths on his lips.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But I <em>won’t</em>,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could almost see the gears whirring behind Tsukishima’s eyes as his brain caught up to what Akaashi was saying. And he saw the exact moment it clicked: the dazed look vanished, replaced by a heated stubbornness Akaashi found ridiculously, wildly attractive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All of a sudden Akaashi felt his arms being tugged upwards and Tsukishima’s palms were pressing flat against his wrists, pinning them by either side of his head. He tugged fruitlessly against the strong grip—with his weight bearing down from above, Tsukishima had the advantage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilted his head down at Akaashi, a razor-sharp grin cutting across his face. “I’m sorry, <em>Keiji</em>, is this a little unfair of me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi had to close his eyes at that, feeling a shiver undulate somewhere in his lower half. He couldn’t bring himself to speak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima shifted above him so his bare legs were slotted against Akaashi’s still clothed ones, and then he lowered himself and <em>oh</em> Akaashi felt like he’d been set on fire, the friction of coarse fabric only making the sensation more torturous. There might have been a whimper at the edge of his teeth but it was immediately swallowed up by a rough, clumsy kiss, Tsukishima’s tongue slick against his. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then he began to move, and Akaashi just about lost his mind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Each motion of Tsukishima’s leg against his cock wrenched out garbled moans from his throat. He couldn’t stop his hips from arching upward, rutting and grinding and seeking <em>more more more</em>, just shy of getting it thanks to the stupid pants he was still wearing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their kisses grew sloppier, wetter, teeth clashing and catching on lips. The pain was secondary, though; Akaashi had become single-minded, fixed on the adrenaline and lust that pumped through his veins with each upward jerk of his hips. His arms strained against Tsukishima’s grip, hands clawing desperately at the air until he felt fingers interlock with his own, squeezing back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kei,” Akaashi moaned out, a fleeting breath heavy with desire.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima’s lips left his mouth to trace across his jaw and down his neck; Akaashi gasped outright, head falling automatically to the side to expose the expanse between shoulder and throat. Tsukishima followed the unuttered guidance, nipping and rolling the skin between his teeth. Likely still sensitive from his earlier release, he still hadn’t lowered himself fully, but his thigh was a solid, hot weight rocking against Akaashi and <em>dragging, dragging</em>, <em>dragging</em>—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Kei</em>,” Akaashi gasped again, almost like an expletive. <em>Please</em>. His tongue hissed against his teeth and he realised he’d said it out loud. “<em>Please</em>—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima drew back so fast Akaashi felt a rush of air against his face. The pressure vanished from his hands, but that was only because Tsukishima had slid back to sit between his legs. He didn’t stop to ask or look up before tugging Akaashi’s pants down over his hips, pulling him out of his underwear and fitting his lips around the head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi couldn’t even form words at that, just blindly buck his hips <em>up</em> into the hot wetness sinking over him. His panting warred with his heartbeat in his ears, filling the space between them, filling the entire room because <em>God</em>, Tsukishima’s mouth, his perfect beautiful mouth wrapped around him, making him almost forget where he was, <em>who</em> he was— Akaashi’s hands scrabbled to find something to <em>hold</em> and it found Tsukishima’s hair. <em>Tugged</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima moaned so loud Akaashi heard it as if it was right in his ear—<em>felt</em> it ten times more keenly. It vibrated over him and he was crying out, vision whitening, and Tsukishima was still there, taking in every bit of his billowing, shaking orgasm.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The world slid back into focus over an indeterminable period of time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima had drawn back, wiping his mouth, but Akaashi could only lay there and stare at the ceiling. He didn’t know if he could even sit up. There was a pleasant hum buzzing through his veins, satiated and sleepy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi turned his head as Tsukishima slowly moved up to lie beside him, watching the blonde settle onto his back. His lips were puffy, swollen. The thought that <em>he got me so much better</em> flashed through Akaashi’s mind, bringing a swirl of embarrassed pleasure in its wake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” Akaashi said, running a thumb over the cracked skin at the corners of Tsukishima’s mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One corner hiked up in a half-smirk. “<em>This</em> is what you’re apologising about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi leaned forward, brushed a feather-light kiss against it. “Mm hm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Everyone’s going to notice my legs now,” Tsukishima complained half-heartedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To that Akaashi felt a rush of jealousy, then he reasoned if anyone did notice, it would obviously show Tsukishima was taken. He felt at the bruises on his throat with self-satisfaction, enjoying the way Tsukishima’s eyes avidly traced the movement. “I guess we’re even.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh, you don’t have a game on Sunday,” he groused. “I’m going to have to wear leggings.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean, you could just not,” Akaashi pointed out. Tsukishima gave him a dirty look.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They gently wiped each other off with damp towels, slid into clean clothes. Akaashi lent Tsukishima a baggy pair of shorts that rode a little high on the leg but fit his waist, but none of his tops were big enough, so Tsukishima went without a shirt and simply crawled into bed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They lay there, soft darkness and blankets covering bare, slightly sticky skin. Akaashi had his nose buried in the nape of Tsukishima’s neck, breathing in his scent, and an arm and a leg thrown over his side. He thought Tsukishima had drifted off to sleep when he said out of nowhere, “I didn’t know you wanted to be a writer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was something Akaashi never really brought up around others due to his current career taking priority, even though sometimes on slow days he’d scrawl out a poem or a vignette in his notebook or on a sticky note, even on the back of a receipt. Occasionally when he’d mentioned his interest before, he had received slightly judgemental responses. <em>Not a very professional career</em>, a relative had even once said.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He said as much. “I don’t talk about it, I guess. Work has me busy. ...I want to write stories with a Murakami-type feel one day, but I don’t know if I could ever do that.” Stories that drifted between reality and dreaming, that dug deep into a closed-off part of you. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could. I want to read your stuff,” Tsukishima said sleepily. “It would definitely be interesting.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because it’s you,” Tsukishima muttered into the pillow, then added, “Next thing you know, you’ll be on the school curriculum.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a sure way to make the next generation hate me,” Akaashi mused, but inside he felt strangely vulnerable. Then his eyes popped open. “That’s right, I said I’d lend you that book I was reading.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima yawned; curled closer against him. “It’s fine if you haven’t finished it. You can just give it to me next time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Next time</em>. He smiled into Tsukishima’s back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi stirred some time during the early hours of the morning. The weak light filtering into the room was passing through his eyelids, but it wasn’t the light that had woken him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a soft feeling against his cheek—a light brushing of skin-on-skin that trailed from beside his mouth to his chin, stopped, then repeated. It was so soothing he might have fallen asleep again, but the faint tingles accompanying the touch slowly stirred him into consciousness. He became aware of the sound of breathing, mingling with his own.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t want to open his eyes, just in case those little touches stopped. As it was, trying not to smile was getting harder and harder. <em>Sleeping, you’re still sleeping</em>, he told himself, keeping his breaths as even as possible. A puff of air tickled his nose. The next current of air made it twitch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The fingers touching his cheek paused. With titanic effort, Akaashi forced his face back into stillness. One heartbeat, two. Finally they began moving again, but this time gently outlining his lower lip with barely enough pressure to indent the flesh. Warmth fizzed up in his chest and this time Akaashi <em>had</em> to smile, except Tsukishima had exhaled again and Akaashi’s nose was suddenly very itchy—he had a brief thought of <em>oh no </em>before he felt his face screw up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He whipped himself around, throwing a hand to his mouth as he sneezed explosively.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A second passed. Resigning himself to the fact he’d very effectively shattered the moment, Akaashi blinked away the water in his eyes and turned back to Tsukishima, who was looking both startled and guilty. His hand still lay outstretched between them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” they both said at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi let out a breathy chuckle, amused even though he’d ruined whatever had been passing between them. “Good morning.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Morning,” Tsukishima mumbled back, still looking slightly like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were lying very close together, as Akaashi’s bed was only built for one. Tsukishima couldn’t have been too comfortable, but he wasn’t complaining, just looking at Akaashi with still-sleepy golden eyes. Maybe it was because of his tiredness that embarrassment hadn’t driven him to break eye contact.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Seeing him all half-lidded eyes and bare shoulders bathed in pale morning light made Akaashi want to pull him close. He was used to seeing Tsukishima with the planes of his face made sharp and composed by his glasses—without them he was just as pretty, but in a softer, more vulnerable way. Again that protective urge rose in Akaashi’s chest; he satisfied it by pressing a tender, dry kiss to Tsukishima’s lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima kissed him back, his hand curling into the sheets. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi wanted to fall asleep into his warmth again, but the light peeking through the door and curtains was steadily getting stronger. Tsukishima sighed, rubbing his eyes. “What’s the time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi turned over again, squinting at the digital clock on the bedside table. “Uh…eight something?” His eyesight was still fuzzy without his glasses, so he groped at the pair beside the clock, cramming them onto his face. Immediately the blurriness grew exponentially worse. “Shit, what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bed shook with Tsukishima’s laughter. “Those are mine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sheepishly, Akaashi replaced them with the right pair, handing Tsukishima’s over. The latter put them on, his eyes still glimmering with mirth. “Could I use the shower?” he asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi stretched, pushing himself up and swinging his legs down to the floor to make room for Tsukishima. He didn’t think he’d be able to fall back asleep now, anyway. “Go ahead, towels are in the bathroom sink cupboard.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima crawled off the bed and padded to the corner of the room, picking up his pants from where Akaashi had tossed them last night. Akaashi leaned back on his hands, watching as Tsukishima collected various articles of clothing while wearing the pyjama shorts he’d had lent him. They <em>were</em> baggy but still ended mid-way down his thigh, letting Akaashi glimpse the red marks littering the skin there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Pretty</em>, he decided.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima left quietly, the tips of his ears coloured. Maybe he’d felt Akaashi staring at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The shower started as Akaashi stood up from the bed and turned on his phone. As soon as he did, it immediately started vibrating as if possessed, making it very obvious the mute on their group conversation, as well as the ones he’d placed on their individual contacts as a precaution, had worn off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The selfie Tsukishima had sent (which had looked pretty damn good, in Akaashi’s opinion), had been lost to the void, pushed up by the barrage of messages from Bokuto and Kuroo. They had predictably flipped out, Akaashi thought with a snicker, shuffling out of his room as he scrolled through the frantic texts.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact(s): Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsukishima Kei</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; EXCUSE ME? WHAT IS THIS?? <b>~Bokuto </b>[19:42]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; HELLO???? <b>~Bokuto </b>[19:42]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; OH HO?? <b>~Kuroo </b>[19:42]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; @Akaashi @Tsukishima </span>
  <span class="s2">😏😏😏</span>
  <span class="s1"> WHAT’S UP <b>~Kuroo </b>[19:43]</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact: Bokuto Koutarou</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; [call incoming] [19:44]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>[You have missed a call from Bokuto Koutarou]</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; [call incoming] [19:44]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>[You have missed a call from Bokuto Koutarou]</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact(s): Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsukishima Kei</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; HE’S NOT PICKING UP <b>~Bokuto </b>[17:46]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; lmao you called them? <b>~Kuroo </b>[17:46]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; pick up kaashi ffffffff <b>~Bokuto </b>[17:46]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; are they really going to just drop that and VANISH <b>~Kuroo </b>[17:47]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; where are you guys?? <b>~Bokuto </b>[17:47]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; maybe we should let the lovebirds be? for NOW <b>~Kuroo </b>[17:47]</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact: Kuroo Tetsurou</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; [call incoming] [19:48]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>[You have missed a call from Kuroo Tetsurou]</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact: Bokuto Koutarou</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; [call incoming] [19:49]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>[You have missed a call from Bokuto Koutarou]</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; kaashi what the FUCK [19:49]</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact(s): Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsukishima Kei</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; WHATEVER YOU TOTALLY TRIED TO CALL TSUKKI <b>~Bokuto</b> [19:50]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; OK I DID he didn’t pick up <b>~Kuroo</b> [19:50]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; definitely muted. offended but also proud? <b>~Kuroo</b> [19:50]</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact: Bokuto Koutarou</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; [call incoming] [19:51]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>[You have missed a call from Bokuto Koutarou]</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; akaasji please im dying [19:52]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; [call incoming] [19:52]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>[You have missed a call from Bokuto Koutarou]</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Contact(s): Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou, Tsukishima Kei</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; SHIT FINE fine I’ll give up for now <b>~Bokuto </b>[19:53]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; but you guys can’t drop a pic like that and then NOT EXPLAIN <b>~Bokuto </b>[19:53]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; lmao yeah what’s with the teasing?? what have we ever done to deserve that??? <b>~Kuroo </b>[19:53]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; I’m gonna freak out <b>~Bokuto </b>[19:53]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; I’m already freaking out FUCKK <b>~Bokuto </b>[19:54]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; I’M PROUD OF YOU GUYS <b>~Bokuto </b>[19:54]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; I’m very proud too, they grow up so fast <b>~Kuroo </b>[19:55]</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">&gt; &gt; hope you’re having a good night </span>
  <span class="s2">😏</span>
  <span class="s1"> <b>~Kuroo </b>[19:55]</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Looked like Kuroo’s hope had come true, Akaashi thought dryly as he went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The skin of his inner wrists was a very faint purple-yellow. By midday the bruises would probably fade, but until then… He eyed them, remembering how Tsukishima had held him down on the bed. Remembering how he—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Stop there</em>, Akaashi thought, his face burning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He filled the rice pot with cold water and plunged his hands in up to the wrists, washing the grains vigorously. When the surface starch was mostly rinsed out he poured in more water and popped it into the rice cooker, setting it to the fastest cycle. There were still some instant miso packets left over, so once the rice was done he could sort those out and fry up some eggs. Average fare, but better than toast.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The shower was still going when he finished prepping, so he brewed himself some coffee and went to sit at the table, cradling the mug in his hands. Inhale, sip, exhale. He stared out the window, watching the trees outside shift in the morning breeze. Thinking of Tsukishima’s lips on his neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima eventually emerged, towel hung around his shoulders and wearing his clothes from the previous day. Amazing, they didn’t even look that rumpled, Akaashi thought, beckoning him over. “Coffee or tea?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, tea, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi nodded and ducked into the kitchen to prepare the drink. When he returned to the table, Tsukishima was scrolling through his phone with a lazy smile. Akaashi could easily guess what he was up to. “Anything new?” he asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kuroo-san called me three times, Bokuto-san twice. I guess you saw the whole backlog in the group chat, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi chuckled, putting the mug of tea down before him. “Bokuto-san called me five times, but Kuroo-san only once. They must have <em>really</em> freaked out. We should do that more often.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Not now, though</em>, went unsaid, but Tsukishima also seemed to share the sentiment. There was something about last night Akaashi never wanted to share with anybody other than the man sitting across from him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When does training start today?” he wondered aloud, taking another sip of coffee. It was doing wonders at waking up his lethargic body.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Around eleven. It may not be as intense today because of the match tomorrow… Mm. Will you be coming to watch that? If you have time,” Tsukishima went on to say, trying to look indifferent.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course I’ll come watch on Sunday. What kind of boyfr—” Akaashi cut himself off, cheeks burning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t believe he’d been about to say <em>what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t</em>. He’d almost overstepped, since they’d never actually <em>said</em> anything about being boyfriends, had they? It had just been dates and tentative promises. Throughout the lingering glances and kisses and admissions of <em>I like you</em>, he realised they’d never actually established anything concrete.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Did that mean Tsukishima didn’t want something like that? Akaashi blinked rapidly, staring at the corner of the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima said something, his voice unnaturally soft.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“S-sorry, what was that?” His tight throat made him stumble.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima pressed his fingers together, cheeks fiery. “Could we be…together. Like that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean…boyfriends?” Akaashi asked hesitantly. His brain was hurting from swinging between all these extremes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The light red of Tsukishima’s cheeks turned vivid. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sure? You don’t look…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The word’s just embarrassing.” If there was a single reassuring trace in Tsukishima’s hunched shoulders, it was that he looked just as lost as Akaashi was feeling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Worry gathered in Akaashi’s stomach. For an instant he was so tempted to bottle it and the whole conversation away, but how else were they going to move through this?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want to be,” he confessed, then his throat clammed up. Frustrated at his own fear, he forced the words out as best as he could. “But…Tsukishima, it would be long distance for most of the time. Even though Sendai is closer than say, Hyogo, and I know we kind of addressed this before…when I said I’d wait for you.” That last sentence brought a rush of insecurity—it sounded like he was coming on way too strongly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima was now knotting his fingers together. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” he said, doubt lacing his words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not…changing your mind, right?” Akaashi asked weakly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wha— no! I just asked you to be my boyfriend!” Tsukishima exclaimed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah.” He had to pause for a moment to properly process that. Tsukishima was looking quite flustered, maybe because he’d said the word <em>boyfriend</em>. “You did.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>did</em>. Even though it’d be long distance. Do you think that’s stupid?” His voice had the same edge of defensiveness it had when he’d thought Akaashi wanted them to be a secret.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it’s not— well—” Akaashi paused, taking a breath to clear his thoughts. “It’s not stupid. After school, though, that distance…we dropped out of contact for four years.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But isn’t it different now? This,” Tsukishima gestured between them awkwardly, “is different. We’re not the same as we were in school. At least I hope I’m not,” he added sardonically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was being overtly stubborn, so unlike him—and in that moment, Akaashi realised Tsukishima was showing his own form of determination, even though it had to be troubling him. They both knew physical distance took its toll on relationships, romantic or otherwise, and Akaashi personally felt someone like Tsukishima needed their partner actually present by their side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But if he was actually <em>wanting</em> this, openly wanting it…would it be alright for Akaashi to openly want it too?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi hovered his hand tentatively, then placed it over Tsukishima’s. “You’re not, and I’m not either.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima squeezed his fingers, the touch somehow expressing so much more than what words could. In that gesture Akaashi could feel his intention to <em>try</em>. And that was what mattered most, right?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Akaashi looked down at their intertwined fingers, squeezing back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tsukishima’s hand was warm and solid on his. This scent of coffee filled the air around them. Akaashi raised his head and met his eyes. Allowed himself to hope.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even if they were apart, the only thing left to do was to move forward together.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So....this is the first multichap fic I've put proper thought into and actually planned out. It's relatively short compared to like 90% of hq multichap fics, but I'm still kinda proud of it!! lol anyway</p><p>Thank you to all who read this fic and stuck with it!! and a big sparkly THANK YOU to those who commented on all the chapters going forward, you know who are and you guys literally made my day when I got the little email notif of a new comment being posted. I adore knowing what readers' reactions to the chapters are and it just makes me super happy full stop!!</p><p>I meant to write something witty here but I've totally forgotten what I wanted say, amazing.</p><p>((I'm currently working on some 3rd gym ideas because bkakkrtsk is such a goddamn excellent polyship *chef's kiss*. if u wanna ramble about 3rd gym pairings of all variations come on over to my <a href="https://twitter.com/tsukichuus">twitter</a> yooooo))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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